


Butterflies in a Bell Jar

by Still_Not_King



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Office, But it doesn't go well tbh, Crowley & Anathema Device Friendship, Except not really?, F/M, Gabriel tries some violence on for size, M/M, Mild Angst, The kids factor into it but aren't really characters, lots of fluff, seriously, these two are hopeless no matter what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22447501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_Not_King/pseuds/Still_Not_King
Summary: Arthur “Zira” Fell and Anthony J. Crowley both work for the same company in London, a big office building for Ethereal™ Investments. Crowley is in IT, which is good because his favorite coworker’s husband is kind of a mess with computers, plus his office-mate Zira is fricking adorable. Of course, then Zira finally joins Newt and Anathema for Karaoke Friday and comes face-to-face with the real A.J.. To say they hit it off would be an understatement - it’s like they’ve known one another for years. It’s an adorable little meet-cute. There’s navigating a new relationship, falling in love hard and fast, and the Incredibly Strict No-Fraternizing Policy at work. Cept, turns out that No-Fratrenizing Policy is mostly directed at THEM specifically...
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54
Collections: Good Omens Big Bang 2019





	1. Now

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a CRAZY experience!  
> Thank you WyvernQuill and Moonvale for your amazing, absolutely brilliant work (and for putting up with the fact that I'm a pregnant procrastinator who waited until unreasonably late to finish this darn thing). And for putting up with my frankly atrocious spelling.
> 
> This Good Omens Big Bang has been an amazing, supportive, and generally phenomenal experience. Highly recommend. 5 stars. Would return.

A cacophony of sound crashed into Aziraphale as he stepped into the bar with a shiver, taking a moment to get his bearings. The place was an eclectic mix of exposed ductwork in the ceilings and vintage signs on the walls. There was neon blinking here and there, contrasting starkly with the warm glow of incandescent bulbs beckoning warmly from their stations over some of the booths. Surely, he thought, this couldn’t possibly be the kind of place-

“Arthur!! Ar-ZIRA!” 

Newton Device was standing, waving animatedly and making a bit of a spectacle of himself.

Apparently this  _ was _ the place.

Aziraphale blinked away his surprise and made sure he looked  _ pleasantly _ surprised. “Newt! My boy, how ever did you find a place like  _ this  _ for your little weekly outings?” He smoothed his camel hair coat over the back of the only chair without a coat or bag draped across it and flopped into it with the signature Thank-God-It’s-Friday sigh of the 9-5’er. The cushion was surprisingly comfortable.

“Aww, it wasn’t me, was it?” Newt smiled self-depreciatingly and plucked a pen out of his ever present pocket-protector, tapping it on the table mindlessly. “Anathema found this place maybe a month after we found our place here in the city? Says it reminds her of Los Angeles, with the crazy stuff on the walls and the karaoke.” His smile turned into more of a grin. “What was I gonna say, no? I mean, she decided to marry  _ me _ of all people. Least I can do if indulge her more… American excentricities.” Aziraphale smiled back genuinely. In the months he and Newt had been officemates at Ethereal Investments, he had learned three True Things about the young man. First, he was theoretically wonderful but practically terrible with actual working computers. Second, he was quite possibly one of the best and most accurate accountants the older man had ever seen. (Which was saying a lot, as Zira was himself a rather excellent - if reluctant - CPA). And thirdly but most importantly, Newt’s world revolved in the most endearing way around Anathema Device, his wife of nearly 3 years. The besotted boy had even taken her last name as his own! (When pressed about it, he’d usually waved it off with a bit of a blush and some stammering about a curse, which Zira found both endearing and ridiculous). 

Aziraphale scanned the mishmash of a bar. “And where is the young Mrs. Device? I’ve heard so much about her, I’m eager to finally meet her face to face!” 

“Oh!” Newt gestured with the beer he’d been sipping. “She’s up there! With AJ.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as his gaze followed Newt’s pointing towards the small stage in the corner of the bar. It appeared Newt had, blessedly, chosen a table in a corner not directly in line with the speakers currently pumping out a tinny version of the background music for “Always Forever” by Donna Lewis. Aziraphale turned to study the two women who appeared to be either having the time of their lives or a simultaneous hallucinogenic fit and his jaw dropped.

They… were both rather lovely and - absurd choice of tune aside - doing their best to pass for an actual duet. (As opposed to the expected Slightly-To-Mostly-Drunk-Hen-Night-Attendees look Aziraphale had unfortunately learned to associate with most female-driven karaoke experiences). He turned back to his companion, who was staring at the one with long, dark hair and an anachronistic bolero like she was currently in the process of hanging the moon. He pointed again. “That’s Anathema, in the green. And the one in the glasses is A.J., her friend from IT.” He smiled and began fidgeting a bit with another pen, as though he’d just remembered something embarrassing. “You know ‘im, he comes in and fixes my computer all the time,” he added quickly, assessing Zira astutely from the corner of his eye.

Aziraphale, for his part, blinked several times, then squinted at the stage again. “A.J.… Anthony??” 

He took a closer look at the striking woman who had now decided to grab the mike and play rockstar while Anathema tried to sing the backup vocals through giggles. There were bright red heels capping off legs, which just kept going up until finally disappearing into a grey pencil skirt whose brass button accents really  _ shouldn’t  _ have kept Zira’s attention for as long as they did. The top was a darker red, buttons to match the skirt and a twee bowknot at the top bled into feminine, puffed short sleeves which meant now Aziraphale was staring at those all-too-familiar arms. Arms and hands which were  _ constantly _ finding ways to drape themselves around his things at work. He’d been infuriated by the ubiquitousness and informality of those elbows and glasses and cocky smirk for nearly four months now, possibly because he couldn’t figure out  _ why _ the other man had decided he’d try to talk to Zira at any and every opportunity that arose. (Or, perhaps, he was infuriated by his own inability to keep himself from being drawn into conversation no matter how inane the content or how urgent his current workload). He - She - They - Anthony was even wearing those ubiquitous little dark glasses in the dark of the bar, though when the neon decided to flare dramatically around the karaoke stage Zira thought he’d maybe had the correct idea. The light lit up Anthony’s hair, which Aziraphale was seeing down for the first time in his recollection and he was suddenly retroactively resentful of those pulled-back hairstyles the IT professional was prone to wearing about the office. Overall, it was an outfit and general look somewhere between matronly and high fashion which Aziraphale found himself transfixed by. And yes, there was no mistaking it. That was most certainly Anthony Crowley. 

“Ah! Yes… A.J.. I, ah… didn’t recognize them.” Aziraphale felt himself blush and tried desperately to appear anything  _ but _ flustered. 

It wasn’t that Anthony Crowley was in a karaoke bar, singing unexpectedly well, with his office-mate’s wife.

And it certainly wasn’t that Anthony Crowley was dressed (gobsmackingly fetchingly) as a woman.

It was more to do with the fact that Aziraphale had hoped he might one day get the opportunity to ask the fascinatingly infuriating man from the information technology department out on a social outing himself, but had never managed to figure out how to phrase it in a way that didn’t sound either off-puttingly bland or, as the kids today apparently called it, “thirsty.” (He had Madeline from Accounts Services to thank for that one).

Not that Newt had any idea about any of that. At least, not the specifics. “Yeah! I figured you two might get on! What with all the nattering back and forth you two do when he comes up to see you. Us. Me. Er… I mean... ” Newt looked guilty and put away his pen again, hastily taking another drink. Aziraphale would have noticed, was his attention not completely elsewhere.

The song ended rather abruptly, in the way music does when a fade-out is turned off by someone impatient to get to the next track, and Crowley scowled at the DJ for a moment before popping the mic back into its stand.  _ Not like there’s anyone else waiting _ , he thought, though he had to admit they’d been up on the stage for rather longer than most would consider appropriate. Anathema and Crowley forwent the small set of stairs to hop off the front of the stage. Crowley, mostly appendage and heel, stepped off first and held a gentlemanly hand to his companion to assist her descent. Anathema, for her part, waved enthusiastically at Newt whilst clinging to Crowley’s fingers. “Oh good! He made it! Newt wasn’t sure he would,” she enthused, pulling her friend behind her. Crowley frowned, then took in the new figure sitting at the table.   
“Nope.” He turned nearly a full 180 degrees mid-stride and promptly walked into the back of a chair. Anathema pursed her lips at his antics like the sudden appearance of ARTHUR BLOODY FELL at their table somehow  _ wasn’t _ a problem.

“Oh, seriously A.J.. You’d think you’ve never spoken to the man before.” She rolled her eyes as she had to walk around him to find his face again.

Crowley, for his part, was Concerned. “Ann, what in the Universe could have got it into your head this is a good idea?” he hissed. “I’m pretty sure he hates me, and have you  _ met _ him? With the bowtie and the waistcoat and the proper Imperial British manners for everything and the hair and the eyes and…” He blinked - something Anathema couldn’t see but had learned to read from his body language - and shook his head a bit. (He’d needed an extra pint once Anathema had told him she’d signed them up for a Donna Lewis song, whether or not he loved to sing the damn thing alone in the shower. It was not helping his focus.) “Anyway. Ann. I’m nearly positive he hates me, and now he’s gone and found out I’m…” He gestured to himself helplessly. Anathema was undeterred.

“Gorgeous?”

Crowley was unamused. “Listen. I don’t care about... “ He gestured obliquely to all of himself, “but there’s a reason I keep it milky-tea at work. I’m not interested in people looking at me like I’m… I dunno, evil or something.” Despite Crowley assuming he was only just warming up his argument, Anathema crumbled immediately. Concern lined her face, and she pulled his taller form into an abrupt hug.

“Nobody could ever think that about you, you’re amazing. Don’t even consider it.” She pulled away, hands staying firmly around his biceps. “He’ll  _ love _ you. Just… be yourself. If he doesn’t like you, which I can’t imagine,” she added with a smirk,” then, well… Newt and I… we’ll think of something.”

Crowley huffed a breath through his nose, not unlike an angry horse, then ran a hand through shoulder-length, wavy red hair. “Fine,” he agreed, squaring his shoulders. “But if this ends horribly, I expect to be able to use you as a reference.” He turned and strode purposefully back to their table, taking his previously-occupied seat and sipping his mostly-melted scotch on the rocks. Anathema sat next to Newt and there they were.

Newt leaned over to kiss Anathema casually. “You were great, Annie! You too, A.J.! I don’t think I’d heard that one before.”

Crowley tipped his glass to Anathema. “Crushed it, didn’t we?” He smiled despite himself as his friend grinned back and cheers’d him with her lager.

“I have to admit, you struck me as more of a classic rock karaoke type,” Aziraphale piped in. Having realized he’d accidentally gathered the entire table’s attention in anticipation of clarification, he ventured: “You know,  _ bebop _ . Like ah… the Satin Underground? The Pistols? Motley… Motley Crue?”

There was a moment of silence in which Aziraphale seriously considered excusing himself from the table and possibly London entirely, and then everyone burst out laughing all together.

Somehow the first to get a hold of himself, Crowley wiped tears of laughter from his eyes. “Bee- Beeheeheebop, Jesus, you sound like that angel from the show…” He snapped his fingers at Anathema, who looked like she was trying to answer but couldn’t yet breathe. “Damnit, it’s about… I dunno, Americans. Ann, you made me sit through an episode about a depressed teddy bear, what… what…” He gasped another laughing breath and waved dismissively at the still-laughing couple across from him. “Ah, you’re no help.” He turned to face Aziraphale directly, laugh-lines still lighting up his features. “You ever tried singing Motley Crue at a bar, angel? It’s a good way to start a riot, that. Almost as sure a thing as a badly done Danny Boy.”

Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he was being mocked or not, but decided to be in on the fun and smiled back. “Well, in that case, I’m happy you were able to find a more reasonable alternative for the evening,” he shot back.

“Well, the evening’s young. ‘Sides, haven’t even done one Queen song yet.”

Anathema groaned as Aziraphale perked up, interested.

“No, A.J., not again. Noooo,” she intoned as Aziraphale curiously inquired “Which Queen?” which just got everyone laughing again.

Three rounds for the table later and everyone was having a cracker of a time. After establishing that Queen was indeed a band, and A.J. was - while not a fan - able to recite nearly every lyric on every song in their Best of Queen set with no prompting whatsoever, they’d moved on to the actual monarchy, then somehow ended up with Newt going on an unexpected rant regarding the patriarchial cultural structures regarding romance and sex that had come to the fore during Victorian times, which had prompted Anathema to sit on her husband’s lap. The company was enjoyable, the music surprisingly reasonable, and the conversation stimulating. Aziraphale found he was enjoying himself immensely.

“I’m just saying, I am…” Crowley managed, tipping his tinted glasses down to peer over them at the other three. “Bloody ‘normous, dinosaurs. Then they turn into birds? S’why I think emus are so bloody angry. “Member bein’ ‘normous, the buggers.”

Aziraphale nodded with a bit more gravitas than the statement deserved. “Oh yes, certainly.”

Anathema hmm’d and gave Crowley a self-satisfied look. 

“Wot?” he demanded. 

His friend wrinkled her nose. “I  _ told _ you he’d like you s’much as you like him,” she teased. “He’s practically an  _ angel _ .” She wobbled, then giggled. Newt (who had finished his drink-in-progress whilst watching his wife, then opted out of further rounds) sighed with a smile.

“Aaaand I think that’s my cue.” He moved and Anathema stood, leaning on the table a bit.

“I’m just so happy to see you two together-” Newt ran into the back of her a bit and she lost her train of thought. “That you hit it off, you know. You just… You both are just… so great.” She looked a bit weepy and Newt swept her jacket over her shoulders as Crowley patted her hand awkwardly.

“Okay Ann, you just go home and get some sleep, yah?” he smiled indulgently, then to Newt: “Take good care of her, eh? Don’t let her do anythin’ I wouldn’t do? Well... “ he leered a bit. “”Cept you, I s’pose.”

That startled a laugh out of both Aziraphale and Newt, the latter of which answered with a saucy “Well that’s just cuz you don’t know what you’re missing, obviously” and was immediately surrounded by a proprietary wife-hug around his middle.

“Mine,” she muttered into Newt’s chest, and he stroked her hair fondly.

“I know, I know. Let’s go home.” He bid farewell to the remaining men and led Anathema out, where they would take the tube home.

It took Aziraphale approximately ninety seconds of silence after the Devices’ exit to circle back to Anathema’s closing comments. “So,” he started pointedly, noticing Crowley’s deliberate avoidance of his eyeline. “Worried I wouldn’t like you, ah… as much as you like me, were you?”

He wasn’t certain that what he was seeing was a blush in the low light, but he’d bet a significant amount of money that it was. The white-haired man smiled, self-satisfied, as he watched the other squirm.    
Crowley tried, badly, to deflect. “Ah, she’s had a bit to drink, hasn’t she? Don’t know what she’s on about.” He drained the last of his latest scotch and turned to face his companion. “Suppose you’ll be off now too, huh?” He smiled a half-hearted smile and moved to push his chair away from the table. Aziraphale found his hand was on Crowley’s bare wrist before he was really aware of moving. They both looked at the point of contact in dumbstruck silence for a beat before Aziraphale pulled back with slow intent. “I’d… Honestly I’ve been rather enjoying your company in particular, Anthony.” 

Crowley’s head tilted a bit and Aziraphale faltered. “Is that all right? Calling you Anthony? Or would you prefer A.J., like everyone at work-”

“I mean… yeah. It’s… uh…” He smiled, eyes still hidden behind those tinted lenses. “Not a lot of people call me that, I don’t think. But, uh… yeah. Anthony’s fine. Great even.” He found he had the rather unfamiliar urge to tilt his glasses up onto his forehead and did so. “Only if I can call you Zira, though. I’m not gonna keep up with any of this Arthur or Mister Fell nonsense if we’re friends now.” He smiled and it reached his eyes, now obvious to his companion.

Aziraphale grinned, barely holding in a wiggle of delight. “I suppose Zira would be just fine. Goodness knows I do abhor the name Arthur. Not sure who thought  _ that _ one up, but it’s plain I had nothing to do with it.”

Crowley laughed and Aziraphale found himself transfixed in a way he was certain to blame on the alcohol.

“Are you hungry, Anthony?” He asked abruptly. The redhead hedged.

“Uh… could be? What’s-Why-Whaaa-”

“There’s a delightful kebab place not far from here. I was thinking - I’m certain they’re still open. Would you allow me to buy you some late” - he checked a pocket watch he had pulled from  _ somewhere _ \- “Very late dinner?”

Crowley looked down at himself and rubbed his chin, suddenly hyper-aware of his barely-noticeable 5-o’clock shadow. He looked back up at Aziraphale. “You sure? You don’t mind I’m in a skirt?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Aziraphale asked, wonderfully, genuinely puzzled. Crowley shook his head.

“You really are an angel, aren’t you?” he muttered. Then, louder, “Sure! Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” He stood and shucked on a stylish black jacket while Aziraphale carefully put his arms through his own cafe-latte colored coat.

“I feel as though that’s a sexually charged turn of phrase I’m unfamiliar with, is it one of Anathema’s American sayings?” he asked with curiosity. Crowley could only laugh and head towards the door, his inquisitive new friend hot on his heels.

  
  


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Crowley arrived thirteen minutes late to work on Monday, which was the closest he’d been to on time since his third week. Anathema, confused but pleased, was a half-breath from a sarcastic comment when a latte from her favorite cafe and a pastry bag appeared in her hands. She accepted them with a stuttered thank you, immediately followed by narrowed eyes.

“Did you get laid or did you kill him? I feel like those are the only options that end in my getting a cheese and cherry danish,” she only-mostly joked.

Crowley pursed his lips at her. “They’re to buy your silence, tart. Don’t want to hear a word about it.”

Anathema sat back down. She was a bit puzzled and disappointment was creeping up on her. “Oh, I- I’m sorry. I thought it was going well when we left… I mean... “ She turned to her desk, still more puzzled than anything. “I mean, how could it  _ not _ ?”

She whirled back around at the sound of Crowley’s snort. He was badly covering a chortle that had escaped through his nose. She pointed accusingly at him. “Why you-”   
“You were so  _ confused _ !” The redhead delighted between chuckles. “I don’t think I’ve seen you that out of your depth since you had to explain to Newt’s boss the disk drive wasn’t for his coffee cup!”

“You had me worried, A.J.!”

“Oh come off. You always know how things’re gonna go, don’t you? S’your little witchy business. ” He signed into his station and stuck his feet up on the desk. “But I’m still buying your silence. Even if you hear from Newt. I don’t wanna hear it.” He peered over his glasses at her. “Not a peep.”

Anathema mimed locking her lips shut, then turned towards her own workstation to sip her dirty chai latte.

“We just get on, is all,” Crowley added after a few seconds of silence. His boots came down off the desk and he leaned forward. “Which is weird - in’t it? It’s like we’ve known each other for  _ ages _ . We spent literally a whole night talking about, like, odd history facts. And books, Oh, Ann.” He threw his head back dramatically and draped his elbow over his eyes like he was discussing a beloved aunt contracting typhus. “He’s got this thing about books, Ann. He went on for like 20 minutes about how the Kindle is killing the art of the manuscript. I swear it was the most preposterous, antiquated, insane diatribe I’ve ever heard. The man’s a nutter.”   
“Well? What’d he say when you told him about  _ your _ Kindle?”   
Crowley looked askance, suddenly very concerned with the incoming tickets. “Well, told him I didn’t read books now, didn’t I?”   
Anathema snorted. “Anthony Crowley, you’ve come in here complaining you’ve  _ run out of space _ on your e-reader TWICE. And that’s just in the time I’ve known you!” She pshaw’ed, then did a slightly offensive (but only in its accuracy) impression of Crowley. “ _ Me? Oh! I don’t read. Nope, not me. Would you like to know the exact pH to make the soil to grow a peace lily and how to get it there? Oh, I learned it from… uh…. The ducks! Definitely not a book. _ ” She cackled, and a hesitant smirk weaseled its way onto Crowley’s face. “Don’t read. YOU’RE the nutter.”   
“Yeah, well, what can I say? I panicked.” He was at about thirty percent defensive, seventy percent repressed smile at this point.   
And Anathema was really rolling now.

“Stoppit! It’s not that funny! He’s nice and… and okay, a bit of a bastard, yeah, but only in  _ interesting  _ ways. You know how many people find out I go out on the town in a skirt and don’t make some frankly unreasonable assumptions?” ” His smile was out of control now. There was no talking it back into its cage, and Anathema knew he’d cracked. She took a few calming breaths herself, slowing from a full cackle to a low chortle at her co-worker’s expense.

“No, I suppose not,” she replied kindly, laughter still in her breath. “I’m glad you like him. If you didn’t, I certainly wouldn’t let him come out with us again-”   
“No! No… erm… yeah. No, no worries about me there,” was Crowley’s incredibly articulate response. “He’s, uh… yeah. I-I think he’s planning on coming out again this week, actually. If. If that’s alright?”

Anathema rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s alright! It’s not like it’s a curated event. Bring your new man-friend.”

Crowley rolled his eyes back, pink tinging the tips of his ears. “My man-friend?? Who are you, Emma Watson? Total tosh. Man-friend. Good god.” He continued muttering incoherently at his monitor as they got back to work. Anathema may or may not have noticed the blush starting at his ears and working its way all the way across his cheeks as muttering became less audible, but she didn’t comment. Because she was a good friend. And he  _ had _ bought her silence, after all.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It was Wednesday, and Newt, frankly, couldn’t take it anymore. Which was all well and good, because Aziraphale had done approximately one third of his usual volume of work, and all of it rather poorly.

“Out with it. What’s up, Zira?”

Apiraphale turned away from his computer to see his younger office-mate’s chair rotated to face him, leaning elbows-to-knobbly-knees, swishing a pen between his first and second fingers. The older man blinked and attempted - badly - to lie. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about, my boy.”

Newt looked at him like a man looks at a new daschund who can’t figure out the trick to “sit.” He sighed, then gestured at the whole of Aziraphale. “Well  _ something’s _ up. You haven’t corrected one of my data sheets since yesterday morning, and I haven’t seen you pull out a book to fill time since you finished the last one Friday. So. What’s wrong?”

“Oh! Oh, nothing! Nothing’s wrong, Newton, I can assure you.” This, Aziraphale was certain, was an absolute truth. At least, nothing tangible. “I suppose I’m still a bit discombobulated from the weekend,” he continued carelessly. “Losing a night of sleep does that to one, I suppose. Not as young as I once was.”

Newt about choked on his own tongue. “You- You and- Wait...” He collected his thoughts while Aziraphale turned back, looking placidly concerned. “Did you and A.J. shag??” he asked skeptically.

The older man’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his curly white hair. “Certainly not! That’s just… it wasn’t even a date, was it! And besides, he’s… I mean, he’d never be… I’m not-” He huffed. “Well, I don’t even know if he enjoys the company of other men in that particular fashion! And god knows it’s certainly ungentlemanly to ask if the subject hasn’t come up. Goodness! No.” He fiddled with his cuffs and straightened his already-straight bowtie, trying desperately to look anywhere but at Newt, who was still staring at him incredulously.

Then his younger companion smiled. “Oh. But you want to, though? That’s… I’m not sure if I’m surprised or not.” He smiled kindly, moving on without forcing Aziraphale to answer the question, thankfully. “So how’d you lose a night of sleep if it wasn’t with A.J.? Find a particularly titiating religious text you had to burn through by morning?”

“Oh, no, I was certainly with Anthony.” His response prompted another curious eyebrow from Newt. Aziraphale seized the silently yearned-for opportunity for to elaborate. “Well, after you took young Mrs. Device home Anthony and I ended up popping out to this kebab place I know of. We spent a while there, then found ourselves at an all-night cafe chatting over coffee - it really is charming, there were couches and… well, it doesn’t really matter. Next thing we knew the sun was rising and we’d been talking all night.” He huffed, eyebrows knitting together. “I feel as though I’ve known him for ages, isn’t that ridiculous? We started chatting about everything and everything. History and religion and plants and sushi techniques. Do you know he’s never tried mackerel? Anyway…” Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively at his own tangent and allowed himself to dwell in the happy feelings the memories left him instead of the strange churn of nerves and anxiety they had been creating the last few days. “It was as though time didn’t really factor into it. Neither of us felt tired, though I gather that was the coffee… but the company certainly assisted. It was…” He smiled tightly, stiff-upper-lip, then nodded. “It was lovely.” Then he turned back to his stack of balance sheets. 

Newt frowned. “So… do you wanna see him again?”

“Oh, I gather I’ll turn up at your next Friday karaoke night, if you’ll have me,” Aziraphale replied blandly. Now it was Newt’s turn to huff. “Just go down there. You know you want to.”

“Oh! Is your computer running slowly again?”

The younger man rolled his eyes. “No, and you  _ know _ that’s not what I mean. Go down there and ask him out if you want. Or just ask him to coffee. Or to eat lunch with you. Anything!”

Aziraphale fidgeted more and more, clasping and unclasping his fingers, wringing them together in a sort of anxious distress. “Oh, oh I couldn’t. That seems far too forward, don’t you think? Anthony seems the type to… make the first move, as they say. I can’t imagine putting him out if he’s not interested.”

The sound Newt made was not professional, but it was expressive. “You think A.J. is SMOOTH?” White hair bobbed up and down and Newt’s eyes rolled so hard they practically took his head with them. “Yeah, that’s because you’ve never seen him sobbing over American teen rom-coms with your wife at two thirty in the morning,” he muttered. “Crowley’s… he wants to be cool. But self-confidence isn’t… isn’t really his thing. Especially with you.” Aziraphale frowned and Newt realized he was going to have to get a bit more granular. “He. Likes. You. Why d’you think he’s always up here ignoring my computer problems? He likes you, but he thinks  _ you _ think he’s a bit of a tosser.”

“Well, to be fair to his powers of perception, I rather did.”

Newt threw up his hands. “Than what on god’s green earth makes you think he’s going to make the first move?” 

“I- uhh… hrmm”

“He wants people he cares about to be comfortable. I’ve seen it with Annie. Hell, I’ve seen it with me. He doesn’t give a shit about most people, but the ones he decides he cares about he’ll move the moon for. I know you don’t-” Newt sighed, running his fingers through his hair in tracks well-travelled. “It’s like someone taught him how to be really, truly loving, but he only puts the effort in with the people he really, truly cares for back.” He slumped back into his chair, disproportionately exhausted by the length of the conversation. “Just know he probably won’t try anything unless you make the move first. But think about this, will you?”

“Mmm?”

“You wanna spend time with him, yeah? You wanna ask him out?”   
Aziraphale blushed, fingers threading together over and over. Newt took this as an implicit admission threw out an encouraging smile. “So what’s stopping you?” He turned back to his computer, content to leave the question rhetorical.   
“I… I suppose…” Something felt strange, like Aziraphale had forgotten something important but distant. He felt like that sometimes, like the antithesis of deja vu. But he considered Newt’s point for likely far more time than it needed. Finally, and with not a small feeling of revelation, he concluded: “Nothing.”

Newt worked in relative silence for a few minutes, only the tak-tak-tak of fingers on a keyboard as background for Aziraphale’s whirring thoughts.  _ Why do I feel like this is improper? What’s stopping me indeed? I’ve never had trouble going after a thing I want, why is this any different? Am I worried I’ll get him fired? Anthony’s a grown man, he can make the choice just as well as I.  _ Warring notions of what was proper and how much he cared, coupled with a brief concern over what he was relatively certain was a “No Fraternizing Policy” that’d been in the handbook when he’d onboarded flitted about his thoughts. But he worked with a man married to someone in Anthony’s own department for heaven’s sake, so it couldn’t have been terribly strict. What  _ was _ stopping him? It turned out, when it came right down to it, the only thing keeping Aziraphale from what he wanted was… himself. 

“I’ll do it!” He remarked suddenly. 

Newt startled and nearly tipped over his water bottle as Aziraphale realized belatedly that he’d been sitting in silence for many minutes. He fretted again. “Oh dear. Apologies, my boy, I… I was a bit distracted.”

Newt smiled like they were friends and - Zira supposed - they were at that. “S’fine. Glad you, ah… figured it out?”

“Quite… Newton?” He asked, suddenly curious. “is this how you and your Anathema started courting? One of you asking the other on a, a date of some kind? Did you work together? Were you friends?”

“Oh, erm…” Newt’s cheeks reddened a bit under his glasses and he suddenly found a speck in the formica of his desk terribly interesting. “I don’t think most people get together like me an’Nathema,” he replied with a shy smile. Hesitant to press, Aziraphale took that as the closest to an answer he’d get and nodded. Who knew, with as lovely and strange a girl as Anathema, how those two had originally met. She was an  _ American _ after all, which to Aziraphale had always seemed as odd and unknowable as being from some mixture of the Land of Oz and the cities in those old Judge Dredd comic books the children kept around. (Though what children he couldn’t say, as he’d never really had any in his life… He wondered idly if Anthony liked children.)

Decision made, he pulled on his worn cuffs and smoothed out his waistcoat. “I believe I’m going for a walk, Newton. Do you need anything?”

The younger CPA was quite the opposite of dense. “Naw, I’ll be to lunch soon. Besides you’re due a break, you haven’t taken one since, like, February.” He grinned. “Take your time. On your... uh,  _ walk _ .”

Aziraphale didn’t necessarily appreciate the knowing look or slightly indulgent tone, but nodded amicably anyway. 

“Right. Well, I’m off.” He sniffed and exited their office, headed in the general direction of the elevators.

He hoped the way to the information technology department was well-marked.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The way to IT was  _ not _ well marked, but Aziraphale managed to make his way there anyway. It was many floors down, though not  _ quite _ in the basement, and rather more damp than the upper offices were. It was definitely cooler down here. (Something to do with servers he imagined, though  _ what _ the man hadn’t the foggiest). The waistcoated anachronism had found himself in a hallway lined with ductwork and those heavy tubes that held dozens of wires bound together, fluorescent lights casting everything a rather sickly yellow. The double doors could have been maintenance or catering for all he knew, but for the little paper sign tacked to the window that read:

_ Ethereal Investments _

_ IT Dept _

_ Please submit ticket!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! _

(The last dozen or so exclamation marks seemed to have been added with a sharpie, along with a small note that read “That means YOU Sandalman” with YOU underlined in a multitude of colors. Aziraphale noticed they were correctly ordered from red to violet with an amused snort before shaking his head in an attempt to refocus, steeling himself, and opening the door. 

The front desk, obviously meant for reception at some point or another, was vacant. As were most of the other cubicles in the area. In fact, in the entire windowless, grey-green room there only appeared to be one occupied corner on the far wall. He cleared his throat to announce his presence over the ambient sound of ventilation and what sounded like… Christmas music?

A put upon sigh erupted from one of the desks occupying aforementioned corner.

“Aaaarghh Sandalphon, if you’ve gone and downloaded a porn virus onto your work laptop  _ again _ , I swear on everything holy and some things that aren’t I. Will. Oh!”

Crowley had slapped both hands onto the top of his cubicle wall and appeared, glowering for all his worth, before catching a glimpse of who had actually arrived. Upon discovering his mistake, he’d done the next logical thing and sat back down  _ immediately _ , slouching down into his chair as far as he could get and elbowing Anathema. She took off her oversized headphones and pursed her lips at him.

“What?” she asked.   
“Shh! It’s-” Crowley frantically flapped his hands in the universal motion for “quiet” and pressed his pointer finger to his lips whilst simultaneously hissing his sotto voice explanation. It was all for naught, however, when Aziraphale’s voice piped up much closer than it had been.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I assure you there is no illicit-material-emergency that requires your aid. Hello?”

Anathema’s eyes lit up like a small child who’d found the neighborhood that gives full-size candy bars out on Halloween. Crowley shook his head and his eyes widened behind tinted lenses. (What he was objecting to, he still hadn’t the foggiest. But he was certain he was woefully underprepared for facing the subject of his prolonged fascination and more-recent infatuation without adequate mental preparation).

“Sorry, Mr. Fell! We both had headphones on,” Anathema replied sweetly, standing with a friendly smile and waving him over the rest of the way. Crowley whirled back towards his own work station and began furiously typing. (He was pretty sure all that was coming out of his fingertips was “A Red, Red Rose” by Robert Burns, but at least he looked busy).

Aziraphale returned Anathema’s friendly overtures as he approached. “Please! Call me Zira. No need for formalities simply because we’re at work.” He leaned into their space from the walkway with a smile and added conspiratorially, “And I truly abhor anyone who insists on calling me Arthur.”

Crowley racked his brain for what he’d been calling the man since the weekend prior and all he could come up with was “Angel” which, while the liberty had given him very particular warm feelings at the time, certainly did nothing to calm his jenkety nerves in the moment.

There was a beat of silence before he realized he was still staring steadfastly at his own computer monitor. He looked to Anathema first, who was staring at him with wide,  _ meaningful  _ eyes, then cleared his throat and stood himself, brushing imaginary lint off his dark jeans.

“Sorry, erm… got caught up ina… thing. SORRY, by the way, about the- the porn… thing, ah… Anyway” He gestured broadly, looking more like he was swatting a fly than anything else, then stuck his hands into his pockets, elbows straight. “Hi.” And then he stared at Aziraphale a moment, lost for anything productive to say, and smiled like a loon. 

Anathema made a noise that sounded a bit like a quickly-covered laugh, but Aziraphale smiled back so Crowley couldn’t be  _ too _ mad about it.

“Hello, Anthony,” he replied softly. Oh, there was a nice, warm timbre to his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago and didn’t  _ that _ do unfortunate things to Crowley’s insides. “I was actually wondering if I might have a word?” Blue-grey eyes darted from Anathema to Crowley and back again, hesitating. Crowley didn’t pick up on the hint, but thankfully someone with a working sense of social propriety was present.

“A.J., I don’t mean to be a drag, but could you and Zira chat over there? I’m going to get back to it - apparently Sales all tried to stay logged in overnight again. I need to boot them and refresh security protocols quick before lunchtime.” Crowley’s shoulders lost the tiniest bit of tension and he smiled gratefully at his friend. Whatever he’d done that weekend that had so put off the other man that he’d made the journey down to their little corner of cubicle hell to give Crowley a talking-to, at least he wouldn’t have to suffer it in front of witnesses. 

Crowley led Aziraphale towards the vacant front desk, hands still stuffed as far into his tiny front pockets as they’d go. ( _ Why _ were the pockets in women’s trousers so frightfully tiny? He’d never been able to figure it out. And, okay, at least he was wearing a red button-down and his burgundy and back paisley patterned vest. Plus the jeans he had on  _ did _ make his bum look excellent. At least he’d look good getting dumped before they ever went on a-).

“Would you be at all amenable to having dinner with me?” Aziraphale asked suddenly. Crowley stopped cold in his tracks and his eyebrows practically disappeared into his auburn hair.

“I… sorry?”

Teeth worried an overworked bottom lip and fingers wrung fingers in circles, but Aziraphale’s posture was solid and his smile more nervous than hesitant. “Dinner,” he stated matter-of-factly. “With me.” 

Crowley gaped.

“I’m interested in pursuing you romantically, if you’re at all interested,” the white-haired man clarified, utterly unnecessarily. Then he shot the dumb-struck fellow standing next to him a sly smile. “Though if you’re not inclined to men, or to me in particular, I’d nonetheless enjoy a purely social outing in your company.”

Crowley tilted his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes, mostly for something to do while his brain caught up with the world. “Aye, uh, I, uh… Yeah. Yes! That sounds, ermmm.” He sputtered a moment, then hid his face with a self-deprecating laugh and a hand on his forehead. “Bloody hell, angel, why can’t I speak to you like a normal bloody human? S’like I forget English, what the hell’s wrong with me.”

Aziraphale have him a fond, if a bit imperious, smirk. “I don’t know, I find you’re incredibly articulate generally. It’s the being caught flat-footed that seems to have you off.” The smirk intensified. “I must say, I rather enjoy being able to do it - please don’t be offended. And I’m happy to leave you alone if-”   
“No! No, I… it’s fine.” (“Fine” was an interesting choice of descriptor for the magma flow of  _ yes please, all the time, anything you like _ that had slithered down Crowley’s spine with the admission, but it would have to do for now). He returned his glasses to their rightful perch and saw Aziraphale’s patiently anticipatory face, realizing belatedly that he’d never explicitly answered the question. “Zira, I’d love to have dinner with you,” he replied. After a steadying breath, he decided to clarify. “Romantically.”

“Splendid!” Aziraphale’s smile was radiant and he definitely gave a distinctive, delighted wiggle. Crowley nearly had to sit down right there in the walkway. He coughed instead, running long fingers over his hair to check his hair was still in place, then strode purposefully back to his desk to nab his mobile from the desk. 

“So when were you planning on this, ah, social outing taking place?” he asked with a studied casualness. He opened up a new contact in his phone and handed it to the other man. “Put your number in?” It was meant to be an instruction, but came out as more of a request. Luckily, said request was immediately granted as Zira began thoroughly filling out every field on the screen in front of him.

“Well, to be honest, I don’t generally have plans beyond the usual book, tea, and bed any day after work. So I suppose I’m rather open to-”

“Tonight?” Crowley interrupted, nearly kicking himself as he did so for seeming over-eager. (He knew he sounded insane because Anathema subtly shifted one of her headphones off of her ear to better hear them). 

Unexpectedly - blessedly - Aziraphale looked impressed and gave another one of those damnable happy-wiggles of his. “Well, I certainly didn’t want to seem presumptuous, but… I think tonight sounds lovely. What do you think? I know an excellent sushi place not far off the Tube near St James’ Park.”

“Cor, I haven’t had good sushi in ages!” Crowley perked up and Aziraphale smiled.

“Yes, I remember.”

The redhead couldn’t hide the flattered blush creeping up around his ears or the half-smile at a remark of his being remembered. 

Zira noted his companion’s reaction and reveled in a possessive fondness far more acute than a weekend plus a few months’ acquaintance really justified. Unjustified, perhaps, but it was immensely enjoyable nonetheless and he made a mental note to remember more minutiae about this fascinating man. It appeared he was unaccustomed to being truly listened to or cared for, and that simply would not stand. He took the liberty of texting his own phone number from the mobile in his hand and returned it with a small flourish.

"Thanks. So… like… this sushi restaurant. S’it a blazer-and-tie kinda place?" Crowley hedged, testing the waters as subtly as he could manage. The other man saw through his attempt immediately.   
"Wear whatever you'd like, dear boy. I can't imagine I’d find you any less ravishing in a ball gown than a blazer." He drummed his fingers against the cube wall, utterly ignorant of the waterfall of warm-fuzzies he'd created in Crowley's chest. "Though, best not wear an ACTUAL ball gown. It's not  _ that _ nice a place," he winked in a fit of confidence. "Meet you at yours? Or…" And his easy, certain smile floundered a moment. Suddenly it was Aziraphale’s turn to be caught a bit flat-footed, worried he’d overstepped or been overly presumptuous.   
Crowley shook his head, clearing his throat to swallow the words creeping up his esophagus.  _ I could love you. I could love you so easily. How can you just smile and smooth over my sawblade-edges like they don't tear apart everything they've ever touched. How are you real.  _ "Yeah! Yeah, uh… mine's great. I'll text you the address… I'll-" He smiled, shock wearing off and slowly giving way to a frankly unanticipated level of excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect to be excited, he’d simply never expected the man he thought he annoyed the piss out of to ask him on an honest-to-somebody date. "I’m looking forward to it," he beamed. Zira smiled back, genuine and bright.   
"Right."   
"Right."   
"Seven?"   
"I'll see you then."   
"Right."   
Then it was back to their positions from when Aziraphale had first entered, both gazing stupidly at one another until Anathema made a not-terribly-subtle noise. (She may or may not have kicked her trash can). Both men started, suddenly made aware that they'd been staring at one another with giant smiles on their faces for an unknowable amount of time. Aziraphale fiddled with his waistcoat, tugging it down and smoothing out the material before finding words to excuse himself. "Well… I'm going to pop off- oh, oh God. I mean..."   
He blushed and Crowley laughed loudly. "Go on, angel. Don't be late or I'm likely to go and find the place without you."   
He watched Aziraphale (and, to be honest, his bum) until he’d exited the IT department’s double-doors, then turned to Anathema with a frenetic, joyful zeal. "I have a date! I have a date... oh christ - Ann. I have a  _ date _ .”

Anathema abandoned her pretense of headphones and laughed. “Yes! Somehow -  _ inexplicably _ \- that conversation ended in the two of you agreeing to go out. My god, A.J., it was painful. Adorable but  _ painful _ .”

Crowley flapped a hand in her direction dismissively as he texted his address to the new contact in his cell. “Listen, you can do the post-mortem when we’re safely at my place and I’m knee-deep in the quagmire that is my closet. I need your help!” He ran a wary eye over the tickets still in the cue. “Y’think we could cut out at lunch?”

His bespeckled friend made a rude noise. “I don’t see why not. Make Hastur do ‘em, he’s the one who insists he can work more efficiently than either of us from home.”

“Hey, don’t jinx it or he’ll start coming in again,” Crowley warned. He considered himself a rational man, but something about their co-worker put something deep inside Crowley on every edge possible. “He smells like poo and he always stares at me like I’ve stepped on his cat.”

Anathema rolled her eyes and grabbed the small glass bottle of water she kept in a conspicuous place on her desk, waving it in his direction. “Don’t worry, sweetie. He’s not coming anywhere near the office - or  _ you _ \- anytime soon.”

Crowley snorted skeptically. “Yeah, sure. Your witchy-spellcraft and such.” He quirked an eyebrow and smiled indulgently. “Though, if a little holy water can hold him off, I’ll happily douse myself in the stuff.”

Anathema frowned. “Please don’t,” she replied evenly, then elbowed his chair. “Who knows what’d happen, eh?”

“I’d get wet. Listen, you wanna cut out early or not?”

Dark hair whirling, the woman was suddenly more ready to leave than Crowley himself. She finished texting Newt not to wait for her, confident he’d get the rest of the story from Zira, and tapped her foot impatiently as the redhead gathered his things.

“So,” she began as they turned off the lights, “You thinking dress? Full suit? Skirt with a jacket? We both know you’re going to try to overdress. I’m drawing the line at a full cherry lip.”

Crowley sighed. “See? This is why I need your help.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The fact that Crowley wasn’t hollering at Anathema for tossing his clothes in a pile on the floor told him three things: one - that he really did love her, two - that he was more nervous than even his subconscious was ready to admit, and three - he really needed to go through his closet and donate some of his things because honestly, this was more than a bit excessive.   
“Hah!” Anathema’s voice echoed from the depths of his clothing-cave. “How about this?” A hand emerged holding a light, flowy sundress. Crowley was unimpressed.

“I will freeze my tail feathers off strutting around in that nonsense, Ann, honestly. It’s like you didn’t walk here with me.”

“Fine. How’s this?” The hand dropped the dress in a pile on top of the other discarded options just outside the door and emerged again with a black, wide-necked, long-sleeved shirt with the Punisher skull on it. It wasn’t quite a crop top, but it certainly wasn’t long enough to keep everything work appropriate if he reached for something. (A lesson he’d learned at the flower shop he’d worked in, having accidentally scandalized some old ladies picking up arrangements for an event. He’d  _ really _ not been cut out to be a florist…) He sighed a long-suffering sigh. “Annnnnn…” he whined, but she cut him off, stepping haphazardly over the pile of clothes she’d made.

“No, hear me out.” She rummaged around and found some high-waisted black dress pants and lay them on the bed with the shirt, nabbed a wide burgundy belt he’d forgotten he owned, and wandered over to his vanity, grabbing a silver-metal scarf-necklace thing he loved but forgot to wear almost always and a metal cuff-bracelet. She put it all together, perked up like she’d forgotten something, then ducked into the closet one more time for some motorcycle boots he’d worn once before. Then she turned with a flourish. “Ta-daaa!” she finished with a grin. 

Crowley loved it.

“He’s gonna hate it,” he replied, glowering at the outfit on the bed. 

Anathema giggled. “He’ll love it because you’re gonna be in it. Besides, that was my final attempt - and he’s gonna be here in like fifteen minutes, and I  _ am  _ assuming I’m  _ not _ coming with you, so unless you wanna just go in what you’re wearing now?”

“Fine! Fine. But I’m warning you,” Crowley glowered over his glasses at his utterly unaffected companion and shooed her out so he could get changed.

Aziraphale arrived at the door to Crowley’s flat at exactly 7pm according to his watch. (If that was because he’d been loitering around the corner for nearly ten minutes, having arrived early but not wanting to appear overzealous, well, that’s between him and the Tesco’s cashier). He knocked lightly and tilted his head at the sound of something crashing inside, then promptly forgot everything he’d planned to say as the door opened and his nerves got the better of him. 

Zira had suspected that A.J. outside of work attire would be something else, but he was standing in the doorway looking like something out of a magazine and the older man was quite lost for what to say. He nixed his first thought (“I can see your clavicle”)  _ and  _ second (less a sentence and more an urge to grab the fashionably wide belt and just… pull) for a more appropriate English smile and a soft, “Good Evening, Anthony. You look wonderful.”

It had apparently been the correct thing to say and do, as tension Zira wasn’t necessarily aware he’d been holding melted out of the other man’s posture and a great grin split his face. “Thanks,” he replied earnestly. “You, uh, look great too.” He nodded to the grey waistcoat and subtly checked bow tie wrapped around a cream shirt visible under his camel hair greatcoat as an unexpected blush rose in Zira’s cheeks. “Ready to go?”

“Certainly!” The mention of food seemed to renew the sense of purpose Aziraphale had been temporarily robbed of, and he stepped backwards into the hall to make room for Crowley to exit the apartment.

He nipped behind the door to grab his black blazer, locked the apartment, and then Anthony Crowley left on his first date with Zira Fell from accounting, trying very hard not to let his combination of delight and terror show too much.

  
  


“But really, dear, I  _ must _ ask. Why in the world do you wear them all the time?”

Zira and Anthony had been nearly three hours in the sushi shop before a check had been none-too-surreptitiously dropped off and they’d been compelled to move their animated (and a bit sake-enhanced) conversation to another establishment. Mentioning he lived a not-long walk from the restaurant, Zira had casually invited A.J. over to share a bottle of French Red something-or-other he had lying about. A.J., enjoying himself too much to overthink for once, had agreed in a heartbeat. Now they were settled on some frankly-unreasonably overstuffed furniture in Zira’s front room, sharing a second bottle of wine and laughing as Crowley tried to find a safe place for his glasses. (Quite a feat as practically every surface of the flat simply  _ packed _ with books).

In lieu of a direct answer to Zira’s question, A.J. handed them over and gestured for the other man to put them up to his face. Zira looked through the lenses and balked while the other man cackled in delight at the anticipated reaction.

“Anthony, how… how do you see  _ without _ them??”

Crowley sipped his wine and nabbed them back, spinning the frames around by the earpiece. “Piss-poorly, quite frankly,” he smiled. “Erlen lenses’s what they’re called. Can’t figure depth perception for shit without the tint. M’brain’s funny like that I guess.” He sipped again. “An’ words just kinda go all squiggly across the page if I’m trying to read without ‘em. S’why I use the e-reader all the time. I can tint the page so I’m not shackled to these things ‘round the house.”

Zira frowned the exaggerated frowned of the slightly-inebriated. “I… I thought you said you didn’t read.”   
A self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah… uh… I lied.”

“Dear boy, what a silly thing - why?”

Now it was A.J.’s turn to frown. “I dunno. You were  _ rather _ adamant about how e-readers were the death of print. Which I agree with by the way. And that they’re the worst - which I don’t agree with, by the way. I’d never be able to carry around the number of books I need on the tube in a  _ bag _ . Ugh.” He sipped more wine and Zira leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees, towards where A.J. was lounging on his overstuffed couch. 

“I assure you, your affinity for - for electronic devices to read on,” (despite his congenial tone, he really couldn’t keep the dislike from his face), “has no bearing on my overall opinion of you my dear.” Then he blinked a bit and tilted his head like a curious bird. “Can you see me now? With your glasses off?”

Aj stared for a moment and smiled, small and private.

“Mostly. Easier when you’re leaned forward like that - I can see your face. My eyesight really is terrible, I’m so-”

“Please don’t apologize for something only God and biology could have any control over,” the other man replied airily, then stood abruptly and settled himself next to Crowley on the couch with a comfortable wiggle. “There,” he turned so the arm holding his wine glass was laid out across the back of the sofa and turned. They were really much closer than that had been previously, which made Aziraphale’s voice a bit softer and his smile a bit happier. “Now you can see me when we speak without having to squint.”

“Th… thanks,” came the almost shy reply. A.J. buried his nose in his wine glass again while Zira watched with only slightly-disconcerting intensity.

“You really have beautiful eyes. I find I’m a bit possessive of the idea so few others get to see them,” he remarked, and Crowley nearly choked. “What?”

“You can’t just  _ say _ stuff like that when a bloke’s got a mouthful,” he chided Zira with wide-eyed scoff.

“Well why on Earth not?”

“It’s… it’s… I dunno! You just don’t!”

Zira smiled that dangerously serene smile of his again. “You’re not very used to getting compliments, are you?”

Now it was A.J.’s turn to be sly. “Compliments’re normal. Don’t have a problem  _ gettin’ _ em. It’s the who’s throwing them around that’s always the important bit.” He gestures accusingly with the mostly-empty wine glass. “Besides, you’re always so, so…  _ genuine _ about the whole nonsense. Like you actually believe the unreasonably kind things that come out of your mouth.”

Zira frowned again. “But I do.” He placed his empty wine glass on the side table and loosened his bowtie thoughtlessly as A.J. laughed again. 

“And that’s why you’re an angel, Angel.” His head flopped back against the top of the sofa and he closed his eyes, letting alcohol and good company surround him with a warm, relaxed feeling. Zira couldn’t help but take the opportunity to play gently with a wayward strand of hair that had fallen a bit too close to his fingertips.

“Oh. I’d be a terrible angel,” he replied softly. A.J. made a disgruntled noise.

“Bah. Agree to disagree,” he rolled his head to the side with a lopsided smile and looked up at Zira, who frankly couldn’t take it anymore. 

The white-haired man leaned forward and closed the remarkably short distance between their faces to see if that smile tasted as good as it looked.

It did.

Like wine and the startled-but-pleased sound Anthony had made and a little bit ashy. (Not bad. Like the best part of smoking a cigarette, and oh - he hadn’t thought about smoking a cigarette in what felt like 50 years. But here was that same addictive, heady feeling again and he was hooked again immediately). If didn’t help that it had taken only about 2 seconds for Anthony to get with the program, and Zira was suddenly giving as good as he got as they sat up a bit. Zira’s hand started to slide its way up that nearly-bare shoulder towards the side of Anthony’s neck, thumb lightly stroking the exposed clavicle while the redhead had deftly transitioned from a light hand on the knee to a solid grasp on Zira’s hip, torso nearly splaying across his lap but somehow still tipping his head towards Zira’s hand. It was somehow both soft and incredibly aggressive, and kisser allowed himself to become the kiss-ee and fell backwards against the sofa with a soft groan, bringing the lighter man against his chest.

Anthony was doing his best to wrest control from his body with his alcohol-riddled brain as the heady experience of being kissed lanced its way through his entire self. He was draped across the wonderfully warm, supportive body beneath him and there was a hand snaking up into the hair on the back of his head and things were warm and things were going fast. Too fast. Things were going too fast. 

There was a whooshing in his ears and he felt like he was falling, like the black behind his eyes was going to overtake his brain and  _ wow, he was really too drunk for this, apparently _ . 

A.J. pulled away with a deep breath and blinked owlishly, leaning a forehead on the soft, cream cloth of Zira’s shirt. He took a beat to just breathe. The man beneath him appeared to sense the need for a break and went back to playing idly with his shoulder-brushing hair. 

A.J. laughed a self-deprecating laugh.

“Sorry. I don’t know if…” he could feel the blush rising in his cheeks and shifted uncomfortably. “Is just this alright? For now? I’d ah… rather remember everything about, erm… “

Zira frowned for a moment, then a fond look replaced his confusion. “Oh course, dear. I would hate to push you, that’s certainly not my intention.”

“No, no… there’s no pushing. I just, ah… this is going to sound ridiculous.” He hid his face against Zira’s chest, but was greeted by the feeling of soft, vibrating laughter.

“Dear, don’t be absurd. Out with it.”

“I’d like to be sober the first time we, ah… oh what on Earth-”

“You’d like to remember the first time we make love?”

“On all the- Well it sounds absurd when you put if like  _ that _ ,” A.J. rolled his eyes with a put-upon expression and leveled an unimpressed look at the man he was leaning on. Zira, however, looked unapologetically delighted and amused in an infuriating way. “Nonsense. Dear. I believe that might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to be.”

Auburn eyebrows shot up in comic surprise, melting into a sassy grin. “Angel, your bar is  _ low _ . Remind me to try never to remedy that,” he remarked dryly. Zira, obviously, tried to respond, but the words were drowned in the other’s mouth, and in a minute he didn’t remember what he had been about to say anyway. 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

  
  


Next morning, Crowley is  _ already _ at his desk with coffee in hand when Anathema gets to work a full 15 minutes early. He also has one of those caramel monstrosities she’s so fond of waiting for her on her desk.

He is wearing the same burgundy pants and boots she picked out for him the night before, and a slightly over-large, cream-colored button-down dress shirt. Anathema can count the number of times she’s seen him wear anything nearly white-adjacent on zero hands, because the answer was never. She squinted suspiciously at her waiting coffee, narrowed her eyes at her friend, and took a breath to speak when he raised a finger with barely a glance in her direction. 

“Not a word, Ann,” he warned with one finger in the air, with then pivoted to point at her coffee. “Drink your coffee and not a word.” He went back to typing as Anathema took off her coat and sipped her treat with a smile.

“I told you he’d like the shirt,” she sing-songed.    
Crowley couldn’t tamp down the grin, but half-heartedly threw a paper clip in her direction. 

“Bahh, not a word!”

  
  


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Zira had never much cared to share his spare time with anyone, but he suddenly found himself feeling as though the time he spent with Anthony Crowley was somehow more enjoyable than any time he could spend with even the most beloved of his books. He found himself seeking the other man out for lunch after having parted only hours previously when they had walked to work together. (After their last-minute date, they had ended up pleasantly drunk and fast asleep tangled up in one another on the sofa until an ungodly hour, after which Zira had made his way to the bed and provided more unreasonably fluffy things for his companion to sleep on the couch with. Crowley had promptly made himself a nest of sorts and burrowed into them until the last possible moment the next morning, whereupon he’d discovered he and the hickey near his clavicle were inappropriately dressed for work. The redhead had emerged from Zira’s bathroom tucking in the latter’s cream shirt from the night before, which had been hanging on the door, with a self-conscious half smile over the tops of his glasses and a what-can-ya-do shrug.) 

One lunch becomes one of them seeking out the other for lunch the rest of the week, then out again on Friday with Anathema and Newt, and another Saturday afternoon together - this time at St. James’ Park, which was near to both their flats. The compunction to have lunch the week before leads to a habit of meeting for meals which bleeds over into dinners the next week. They walk together towards Zira’s flat on these nights. Further and further before separating, always taking a moment to hold one another before going their separate ways. It’s Friday again when Crowley invites Zira to his flat for the first time after karaoke with Newt and Anathema. 

The first time Zira went into A.J.’s flat, and he was as startled and interested by the stark minimalism and classic art on the walls as A.J. was at the warm, overstuffed library of a home occupied by the slightly stouter accountant. The thing he found most intriguing, however, was the proliferation of succulents around the house. In every room, on nearly every flat surface, a spikeysoft plant of various size reclined in a terracotta pot. A.J. noticed him noticing and explained. 

“I always wanted a garden, y’see. But I’ve lived in London my whole life. Plus I’m terrible at it. Can’t retain a thing, doesn’t matter what I read. Never sticks.” He tapped his temple. “So I got the easiest plants to take care of. Hardy as anything, these things. I’ve managed to keep most of ‘em from kickin it on me too!” For some reason Zira had found this equal parts terribly endearing and deeply, troublingly sad. (He chose to ignore the confusing sadness part and focus on, well, everything else). 

The night ended in late-night curry take-away, a bottle of a delightful white wine Zira had found, and them both nearly falling asleep on Crowley’s black leather sectional mid-conversation. A.J. had dragged a sleepy Zira with him to the king bed in the bedroom (For as little furniture the man had, all of it was massive) with admonishments of “‘M not letting you sleep on that thing, Angel. It’ll be hell on your back. I know from experience. C’mon.” They both barely kicked off shoes and belts before sleep was on them again, and Zira woke up with his chest to Anthony’s back, warm and content in a way that was dangerously close to a feeling of home he’d been without for as long as he could remember. A.J. awoke content, warm, and sleepily okay with the dawning realization he was in Trouble(™). Well, maybe it wouldn’t be Trouble(™) this time. Maybe he could have this. They both slept until late morning.

That Saturday, they simply… stayed together. It seemed neither of them were inclined to leave the other’s company so they spent the day with one another. They had breakfast, fed seeds to the ducks at St. James Park, wandered through the Tate (because why not, and Crowley had had a membership since he couldn’t-remember-when), and spent a solid hour and a half in quiet company at a cafe, settled happily in the high-backed chairs near a kitschy enclosed fireplace reading, and occasionally mentioning something to the other about their respective narratives. Neither of them really noticed A.J. had essentially just followed Zira home until they found themselves standing in a suddenly charged atmosphere in Zira’s foyer. He was taking off his coat, while Anthony was obviously wrestling with the choice between hanging his up next to Zira’s and keeping his coat on for an impending exit. The redhead, all awkward angles and regretful politeness, shrugged and nodded towards the door. “Well, I suppose I should probably leave you to it,” he said. He kissed the tips of his pointer and middle fingers, then cheekily winked and made a funny motion with his fingers like he was snapping them, but ended up pointing at Zira like he was doing a finger gun in his direction. It surprised a delighted laugh out of Zira, who pretended to “catch” it on a whim. Because Anthony might be ridiculous, but he was rather sure he was in love with the man. 

“I suppose so, dear. Thought you could stay, if you’re not tired of me just yet.” He smiled, welcoming, and hoping selfishly the redhead wouldn’t choose to leave. “I have the rest of the wine from the other night… some bourbon if that’s more to your liking…” Zira took a deep breath, hoping he wasn’t being too forward. “Or I could take you to bed, if that’s something you’re interested in.” He paused, placid smile on his face but just a bit of nerves hovering around the creases in the corners of his eyes. The subtle tension was like a flashing neon sign, somehow, and the barely-concealed nervousness helped settle AJ’s suddenly-spiking heart rate. He took one last look at the door, turned with a grin instead, and stepped forward to fist solid but gentle fingers into the curls at both of the other man’s temples in delighted affirmation, eyes sparkling behind dark lenses. Then he backed off, assessing himself, and nodded.

“That last one sounds much better than a walk home alone,” he said with not a little cheek.

Zira narrowed his eyes in faux-offense. “Well, I certainly hope your expectations are higher than A-Walk-Home-In-The-Cold-Dark. Of course, if you’d rather we could just have a glass of-”

He was cut off by another kiss, but this one was slow, and gentle, and had far more soft, insistent tongue than the one he’d been subject to a moment before. They both closed their eyes, falling into it, and parted a bit breathless after a few seconds longer than either of them expected. Long-fingered hands still held Zira’s face, and they were close enough for him to see Anthony’s hazel-green eyes were bright and clear behind his dark glasses. “I don’t want to have a drink, Angel,” he said softly, still not pulling away. “I want to remember every second of this, clear as day, til the day I die.”

Zira closed his eyes, melting a bit at the unexpected sincerity. “Oh, Crowley…” he whispered thoughtlessly, surging up the smallest fraction to initiate a kiss of his own. (Why he’d thought to call his companion by his last name in this moment of intimacy flickered across his brain in a flash of embarrassment, but the fellow in question had only groaned and returned the kiss with gusto so it was only the barest firefly-flicker of a concern). They separated reluctantly after A.J. lost his balance the second time and it became apparent that snogging in the foyer was going to be, at best, uncomfortable if continued in perpetuity. Crowley smirked at Zira’s flushed cheeks, apparently unaware that his own hair was sticking up in all sorts of gravity-defying directions, and plucked at his coat.

“Hold up, Angel. Let me take off my jacket? It’d be a shame to ruin it.” Zira rolled his eyes with a smile and headed into the flat as A.J. hurried to shrug off the garment and follow him.

  
  


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Crowley was far more chipper on Monday Morning than Anathema had ever recalled seeing him in the entirety of their acquaintance. As this was occuring at approximately eight-thirty am on a Monday morning, it was all the more worrisome. To add to her suspicion, he brought her coffee again. This time it was exactly the opposite of how she normally took it. She blinked and glared at the coworker currently ignoring her very presence.   
“ So I woke up on Sunday to three texts from you at three in the morning,” she stated blandly, waiting for him to turn and face her before continuing. “That were nothing but exclamation points.” She took a sip of her awful, black coffee to hide a snide upwards curl of her lip as A.J. blinked and tried not to look phased. She cleared her throat. “I assume you had a, ah… productive weekend?” She quirked her eyebrow.   
Crowley kept his stoic demeanor up for approximately half a sentence.   
“Got absolutely bloody-all accomplished,” he groused. “And I’ll be sore for a week, but that’s none of  _ your _ business” He grinned then, unable to keep up the grouchy exterior. “It was bloody brilliant, Ann. Best weekend. 5 stars, would return. Will return. Likely as often as possible.”    
  


Newt received the text message “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” from Anathema as he was getting out of the elevator on his floor, and was very confused until he opened the door to his and Mr. Fell’s shared office. The older man was in a bright blue shirt, sweater vest, no tie, and he was... humming? Newt stood, taking a moment to look from his office mate to his phone and back again, eyes squinted in thought, before the metaphorical lightbulb went off. Partly out of not wanting to think about the particulars regarding any nightly goings-on of his older friend and partly because Newt was a generally pleasant person who enjoyed clear boundaries, the man resolved to pretend everything was exactly as it always had been and settled down to another regular Monday’s work. He decided to enjoy the normalcy until anything out of the ordinary was thrust upon him. With luck, he’d never know anything more than the most sweeping, general, and romanticized of details. 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It had been nearly three months since their first real date when the thought drifted into Crowley’s brain, abruptly and a bit unwelcome while staring blankly into his morning cup of tea, that he couldn’t rightly remember the last night he’d slept alone. He scowled into his cup, distaste at the realization he’d become one of  _ those _ people warring with his desire for caffeine. It was the dreams that preempted the habit, if Crowley could blame anything. He’d had a fear of heights - specifically  _ falling from them _ \- for as long as he could remember. And his ability to have unreasonably vivid dreams had never done anything to help his generally anxious demeanor. There was a rotating slate of them, really, vivid like memories except for their exceptional content and a cast of characters both real and imagined. The dreams where he was a parent, or with children in general, were always his favorite. (There was a recurring little hellion of a boy with a dark mop of hair and a posh accent who appeared at various ages from gangly preschooler to nearly grown. Sometimes, if he was allowing himself to daydream in a world where Anathema was right and things like magic really existed, he thought maybe he was seeing into the future…) There were dreams where he was building stars and dreams of gardening in the country, loading animals onto Noah’s ark, sharing wine with Roman senators, flirting with priests in Avalon, and a particularly confusing nightmare that involved begging a depressed-looking, pockmarked man to leave the Americas alone whilst stepping over what looked to be hundreds of sick and dying in a gleaming, golden city. But the falling dreams were the  _ worst _ . And while they weren’t as complicated as the others, they were utterly immersive, and they came often. He never knew where he was falling from, or how he’d gotten to where he was, or how far down the ground was, but he could always feel the rush of wind and hear the deathly howl of terminal velocity in his ears. It was always so dark in these dreams. Falling through starlight into a void and always, always catapulting towards a brimstone-hot boiling  _ something _ made of terror and hate. It didn’t make any kind of logical sense and he didn’t have any experience to tie it to or memory of the first time he had it, but it was a dream and dreams didn’t need to make sense to be terrifying. What  _ did _ make sense to Crowley was his discovery, upon waking next to his new beau one Tuesday morning, that the dream which had haunted his nights for years had taken on a decidedly less mind-and-soul-numbing terror in lieu of a softer, more resigned feeling of sadness. It hadn’t been the nightmare he’d been trained to expect. Instead it had simply been… deeply sad. A sense Crowley had lost something important, but it’d work itself out bubbled up in him upon regaining consciousness instead of the usual gasping, paralyzing horror. He had still, apparently, startled awake. (He always did just before he hurdled into the ground at whatever the dream-equivalent of terminal velocity would be). But Zira had sleepily wrapped a warm arm around his middle and unconsciously tugged him closer, settling them both more solidly beneath the duvet. Crowley had gently wrapped his fingers around the wrist at his waist, consciously steadied his breathing, and slipped back into sleep almost immediately. He hadn’t slept alone since. And now, staring at the cream swirling around in his tea, he realized there was nothing wrong with that except his own knee jerk distaste at realizing he wanted something from someone else. Something that someone was more than willing to give, it seemed.

Zira and A.J. had spent nearly every meal together since the weekend they forgot to go home alone. The accountant would usually wander down with his lunch bag and settle into one of the empty cubes for lunch during the week. It was nice to have the company, as Crowley had gotten used to Anathema scurrying off to have lunch with her husband every day. They’d go home after work, but without fail meet at St. James’ or at one of their flats before dinner, one of them always carrying a discrete bag with a change of clothes for work the next day and any additional necessities. There was never any discussion - neither Zira nor A.J. really wanted to spend any time alone when the opportunity to be together was there. Both of them had entertained the thought that it was either unhealthy or codependent, then dismissed it because dammit they were men in their late thirties who had found someone they… well… nobody was complaining, so why question it.

They usually went their separate ways after work, but Fridays were secretly their favorite because they met up in the building’s lobby and walked together to whatever place Newt and Anathema had decided was that week’s “Friday Place.” Sometimes it was the Device’s apartment, sometimes a new restaurant or bar Anathema or Zira had found and wanted to try, but usually they ended up doing karaoke and laughing until their sides hurt. Zira had been rather insistent that their interactions at work be at least passingly professional (despite Newt calling down to IT for “special help” with his computer a solid once a week since The First Sweater Vest), but Crowley looked forward to 5:30pm on Friday like children anticipate Christmas. Something about the knowledge that they’d meet as soon as they possibly could after work with the entire weekend spread out in front of them, full of potential and the promise of nothing much except the other’s company and some good times with their friends. It settled a part of him he’d never realized constantly buzzed with anxiety until it begun to stop. Zira looked forward to it as well, though he was slightly better at concealing it. He was never late, however, and was usually waiting for A.J. in the building’s lobby when the computer tech emerged from the bowels of the building at 5:30 on the nose. In fact, Zira waiting for him was exactly the sight A.J. expected when the elevator doors opened on this particular Friday evening. Instead, he was confronted with his Angel, body language tight and formal; a tell-tale sign he was doing his best to look As Professional As Possible. (A bit of a stretch even on a good day, to be honest, but he’d never tell his angel that to his face.) He was engaged in what he looked like it was meant to be small talk with a slightly imposing gentleman in a truly awful lavender suit. Steeling himself for a rescue mission, he put on his best James Bond Swagger and ambled up to the two of them slow enough to parse out exactly who this person was. (He looked vaguely familiar, but so did everyone who worked in the building really.)

“- those balance sheets, huh? I tell you what, your numbers really are excellent this quarter, Arthur. Really excellent. Seems like you’ve really found your calling. I’m surprised to see you leaving so early! Would you like to come up and chat expenditures, mano a mano?” The larger man clapped Zira a little too hard on the shoulder and ignored the tight, wincingly polite smile stapled to Zira’s face. Crowley suddenly knew  _ exactly  _ who this was - Gabriel VonTrapp, Zira’s supervisor. The Only Reason, by A.J.’s calculation, they had to keep things so discreet at work - because of some inane rule about fraternizing they’d apparently been  _ very  _ clear about when Zira had started. Crowley didn’t really give a toss, but it was important to Zira, so he’d behave at work. Oh, this fellow was already on Crowley’s shit list.  _ And  _ he called his angel Arthur. Zira  _ hated _ being called Arthur. Oh, the rescue mission was on. He calculated he could have them both out the door in 90 seconds or less.

  
“Well good evening, Mr. Fell!” he intoned just a bit too loudly, interrupting any additional blustering the purple Hulk was about to begin with. Crowley noted the expression on his angel’s face flit from the tight, formal smile to a relieved, genuine one before it shifted again to pleasantly-concealed concern as his eyes darted between his supervisor and his boyfriend. ( _Boyfriend? Surely there was a better term for them than that… this was not the time, what was Anthony going to do?_ )  
The gangly redhead insinuated himself into the conversation, effectively turning the two-person professional face-off into a triangle by thrusting his hand out for a handshake with aggressive politeness and introducing himself. “A.J. Crowley, sir. Work down in IT, not sure if we’ve met. Are you a friend of Mr. Fell’s?”  
He tamped down the slightest bit of disappointment at the miniscule relaxation in Zira’s shoulders as he pretended he didn’t know and love every detail he could absorb about Zira’s life. Gabriel VonTrapp, however, performed a double-take that was almost comical and stood there gaping like a fish as Crowley pumped his hand up and down a few times before dropping it.  
“Ah, ah…. A, AJay, was it?” he blinked like he’d heard something lewd instead of a simple introduction and smiled like he smelled something terrible. “How, ah…. Heh.” He tilted his head and Weirdo! Alarm bells started going off in A.J.’s brain. _Seriously, this guy is glitching like a robot, what the hell?_   
Even Zira raised a questioning eyebrow in his direction. All A.J. could do was a little micro-shrug as Mr. VonTrapp seemed to get his bearings. He laughed after a longer-than-normal period of silence and then started the conversation up like there hadn’t been a solid seven seconds of Very Weird Behavior just then.  
He smiled at Crowley in that fake-interested salesman sort of way. “A.J. Crowley! From the computers department! That’s right. And, ah, how do you know Arthur here?” He thumped another possessive hand on his angel’s shoulder and Crowley wanted to show his fangs and hiss which… what? He smiled back instead, grateful for his dark glasses.  
“Oh, we see one another now and again. Office mate’s Newton Device, married to one of the other IT people. Good guy, terrible with computers. Speaking of,” he turned towards Zira, snapping his fingers like he’d just remembered something. Gabriel VonTrapp flinched for no good reason and something inside Crowley crowed a bit. “He said something to me about you and him going out for drinks last time I was up there. Was that today?”  
“Me and Newt? Drinks? Oh. OH! Yes!” His angel wasn’t too quick on the uptake, but he wasn’t as slow as VonTrapp thank goodness. “Why yes, that’s… that’s actually where I’m heading right now. He had something he wanted to speak to me about. Ah, mano a mano,” he added with a politely regretful smile in his supervisor’s direction. “I’m afraid that expense conversation will have to wait until Monday, Gabriel. Many apologies. But I do hope you have an excellent weekend.” Zira nodded and took a few steps towards the front doors, hesitating only slightly when he realized A.J. was still standing next to the hulking accounting supervisor in the over-tailored lavender suit. He was obviously casting about for something to say and coming up short. Crowley expected him to head out the doors and perhaps wait for him around a corner, and was about to bid adieu to Mr. VonTrapp himself with some paper-thin excuse about heading home when Zira did something decidedly unexpected.   
Instead of turning away and heading out the door, the white-haired accountant turned to fully face the two other men as he shrugged into his coat. “Anthony, do you think you could accompany me to the tube? I believe you’re spending the evening with Anathema, if I’m not mistaken. I’d be most obliged if you’d walk with me.”  
Something warm and safe curled around Crowley’s heart at the sound of Zira calling him Anthony in front of his supervisor. “Of course,” he replied warmly. “Can’t think of better company.” He shot a polite smile and head-nod towards Zira’s supervisor. “Ta, nice to meet you. Have a good weekend and whatnot.” His smile softened and deepened as he turned to Zira, hands in pockets so as to not take the other man’s hand in present company. “Shall we?” He couldn’t have kept the fondness out of his voice if he’d tried (he didn’t), and he smiled, warm and genuine. Take away food, water, and oxygen - Zira’s answering smile was all Crowley needed to live on for the rest of his days.   
“Of course, dear boy.”   
They walked just inside one another’s personal space as they crossed the foyer, Crowley’s hands shoved into his front pockets as Zira wrung his hands in that fitful way he had when there was nothing else to do with them. Neither noticed Gabriel’s confused, frowning stare on their backs as they left through the main doors and joined the throngs of other friday-evening commuters on the sidewalk.  
They were silent until they rounded they had exited the building and rounded a corner, whereupon Crowley deemed it safe enough distance to bump his shoulder playfully into Zira’s. They stole glances at one another as they continued towards the tube until Zira’s stoicism finally broke with a laugh under the weight of Crowley’s amused smirking.  
“You snake, you nearly gave him a conniption!” He laughed and looped his arm around Crowley’s elbow. The redhead tossed his head back and laughed. “I did, didn’t I? Why did he react that way? Does he always do that?”  
“Do what, dear?”  
“I dunno, act like a malfunctioning robot who forgot how humans work when presented with a new situation?”  
Zira giggled and batted at Aj dismissively. “Oh now, don’t be like that. Maybe he was just stunned by your devilish good looks and charming personality.”  
Aj rolled his eyes. “Oh definitely. THAT’S what that was. He was _charmed_.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Zira should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it. Monday morning arrived and he’d barely sat down and turned on his computer when he got a call on his rarely-used phone that Mr. VonTrapp wanted to see him. He sighed and hoped with a sinking feeling that it was actually about those expense reports.    
It wasn’t.   
“Arthur! Sit, sit!” Gabriel was in another pastel suit, this one more pink than purple, and had that unnerving salesman smile plastered on his face as Zira took a seat in one of the chairs across the desk. There was a beat or two of silence while Gabriel flipped through some papers, then he clasped his fingers and rested them on the stack of sheets, focusing on the accountant across from him.

“So! It appears Mr. Crowley from IT has been coming up to see you and Mr. Device rather regularly these last few months.” he stated blandly. It wasn’t a question, but he raised his eyebrows as though it was. Zira nodded and waited. When no clarification forthcoming, the taller man blinked rapidly. “Personal reasons?” he asked, voice ticking upwards just a touch.   
Zira sniffed. “Well, you must remember the first day Mr. Device arrived. It… well,” he paused to allow Gabriel time to fully access the memory. “I’m happy to say we haven’t had  _ quite _ as eventful a day as that again. But his equipment does seem to malfunction at a rather higher rate than one would expect. He’s excellent with the numbers, though.” He chuckled, his genuine fondness for his young friend showing. “He insists his entire family’s cursed, I suspect it’s just bad luck.”   
Gabriel nodded, apparently satisfied, then flipped over another piece of paper which appeared to be a list of times and dates.   
“Well, let’s just hope the curse doesn’t transfer, eh?” he ventured, then moved on. “And you, Arthur. You seem to be spending an awful lot of time down in the basement. Why in heaven would you be going down there so often?” He smiled wide and showed all his teeth. It did not seem like a friendly smile. Zira bristled.   
“Well, to be honest I’ve made some friends down there, what with all the computer trouble. I tend to pop down and say hello.”   
“Friends?” Gabriels eyebrows raised in a skeptical way that in no way endeared him to his companion.   
“Oh yes! Rather good ones, in fact.” he bit out, overlaying his tone with something sugarsweet to keep up the veil of polite conversation. “Ms. Anathema is quite lovely. She and Newt are married, don’t you know? I’ve gotten to know them both quite well over the last few months. She’s very technical. Handy to have someone as clever as that in the family, especially with his luck with electronics. And Anthony is a rather delightful conversationalist once you get past the glasses.”   
“... Anthony?”

“A.J. Crowley. You met him on Friday,” Zira clarified. “Very clever with computers. Clever with a lot of things, really. You should see how many books he goes through in a week, even if it is on one of those dreadful kindle things-”   
Gabriel cut him off with a put-upon sigh. “Arthur, I don’t have to remind you that anything beyond polite and friendly conversation with an underling is very much frowned upon here at Ethereal Investments?”

“Of course. Though, I might point out, Newt and I are very much equals in this department, and Anathema and Anthony are in utterly separate departments. There’s absolutely no authority I have over them and visa versa.”   
“Well-”   
“And I only venture down to their department on my lunch breaks, during which I’m neither paid nor obligated to stay in the building at all. Any time I spend there is my own, and I assure you I’m no bother to them. They get to have lunch breaks just like we do.” He laughed, trying for a joke. “Simply because they have been vanquished to ‘cubicle hell’ doesn’t mean they don’t eat like us other humans must.”

His supervisor didn’t seem to find it funny. “What if you receive a promotion? What then?”

The older man tipped his head in confusion. “Oh, I think we both know that’s a long way off, Mr. VonTrapp. Besides, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”    
Gabriel finally dropped his polite pretense, though the smile remained rigid. “You would lose your job over an interoffice romance?” he demanded.   
“Are you threatening my job over an unconfirmed relationship with a person in another department?”   
”Certainly not,” Gabriel was suddenly very concerned with making sure all the papers on his desk were aligned just so. “It’d just be a shame if one of you were to lose your job is all, over something as silly as an anti-fraternization policy.”   
Suddenly, Zira was far more angry than he’d anticipated being, and far less flustered than he’d expected. He stood purposefully. “Well,” he replied coolly. “If I were, it’d certainly solve this little inter-office romance problem, wouldn’t it? Though I think we both know the numbers for the department would suffer a rather unfortunate dip were I to suddenly cease my current position. Not to mention Newt’s rather terrible luck with computers. I imagine he’d be quite distracted if he knew both his and his wife’s positions were in jeopardy due to an arbitrarily-enforced fraternization policy. I would truly  _ hate _ for another floor-wide memory wipe. Particularly if the only competent computer service technicians on site were unavailable.” Gabriel gaped, speechless at both at the audacity and the unspoken admittance that his relationship with Crowley was already a given. Zira narrowed his eyes like he was daring Gabriel to cross the lines he was toeing against. “Now, unless you wanted to go over those expense reports with me, I believe I have some work to do” He smoothed his hands over the front of his argyle, tan sweater vest and squared his shoulders. “Will that be all? Sir?”   
“Uh… Yes. Yes, Mister  _ Fell. _ ” Gabriel smiled - a tight, almost angry thing - and nodded. “That’s all for now. Just… keep it professional. Understand?”   
Zira’s answering smile was equally frigid. “Certainly.”    
He turned on his heel and walked out.

Gabriel put his head in his hands as the door closed behind his most productive accountant and took a deep breath. Then he leaned back in his chair and, with a wave of his hand, unlocked and opened a locked drawer at the bottom of his desk. This would have been strange in and of itself, but it was made even more bizarre when he withdrew a contraption that appeared almost cellphone-like. (Honestly, it looked more like if someone who didn’t understand why metal or plastic was important had been asked to draw a communicator from Star Trek). He did something strangely complicated and the phone-like thing glowed red. Then and a voice answered that sounded like it was being drowned in buzzing static.   
“What is it? Why are you bothering me?” the voice demanded.   
Gabriel sighed a long-suffering sigh. “Beezlebub? Yeah. Uh... We have a problem.”


	2. Then and Back

**TWO YEARS AGO**

“I’m just saying, these are the times when I miss Agnes!” Anathema flung her bag onto the ground at the foot of the hotel’s bed and huffed. Newt sighed.   
“Well this is just how the rest of the world lives, unfortunately,” he replied with a resigned sort of shrug. It was not the correct response.    
Anathema narrowed her eyes. “But we’re not  _ like _ the rest of the world, NEWTON,” she hissed derisively. “We helped stop the apocalypse. I have a  _ demon’s mobile number _ and regularly interact with the  _ antichrist _ . I’m a WITCH descended from a family line of witches who just got back from a honeymoon with my  _ witch-finder husband _ . We. Are. Not. Normal. People.” She scowled at the floor and plopped down on the bed. “And now our apartment’s flooded before we even move in and nobody’s answering at the cottage and I don’t know what I’m supposed to  _ do _ anymore. I  _ hate _ not knowing what’s coming. I hate it! I mean, computers science? Really? How do I know that was even the right choice? And now I don’t even know where to start looking for work and I just… it’s a lot, Newt.”   
“Hey now.” Newt put his bags down and sat next to his wife on the bed. So you don’t know what’s coming nowadays. At least you don’t have to be a professional descendant anymore, and hey - so we push back the housewarming get together a few weeks. We’ve got, what, a couple uni students, some retirees, and a couple immortal beings invited? I’m sure they won’t mind rescheduling.”   
Laying her head against his shoulder, the witch sighed deeply. “I just… sometimes I wish we hadn’t burned them, y’know?” She looked at Newt, wide-eyed to convey she didn’t blame him in the slightest. “It’s not like the last few years haven’t been wonderful! But, well… sometimes I wonder. Maybe… maybe with a new batch we could have done things differently? Used them as guideposts instead of pouring over them like they were some kind of religious text. I-” She cut herself off, only slightly dejected. “But that’s nonsense.”

Newt opened his mouth to say something he hoped would be comforting when there was a knock on the door to their room. The couple looked at one another, a bit confused as they’d only just checked in, and Newt called out: “Yes?”   
“Delivery, Sir! Mr and Mrs Newton Device? Room 317, Best Western, London?”   
Shrugging, they opened the door. A plain-looking man with a tan delivery uniform and a bright smile handed over a box that looked like it had been shipped around the world several times over. Newt took it - it was heavier than he’d expected - and the delivery man handed Anathema a clipboard. “Sign here, please?”   
She did, looking at the return address. “Who’s sending up anything from The British Museum?” Puzzled, she handed the clipboard back to the pleasant man who simply shrugged.   
“Couldn’t tell ya, ma’am. Head office said this delivery was booked back in the 1500’s, but that can’t be right.” He huffed a quiet laugh to himself, checking that the paperwork was in order. “Course, I had a couple deliveries a few years back, office said they’d been scheduled a couple’a thousand years ago! Whew, was that a day, I tell ya.” His smile got a bit brighter, if possible. “I like to tell the little one about it. Maude - m’wife, she thinks I’m good with stories. With this job I could write a whole book of ‘em!” He tipped his hat politely at the couple and, deeming everything to in order with his documentation and his package in the correct hands, bid them a quick and polite farewell.   
Anathema couldn’t tell if she was excited or disappointed with what she was nearly certain the package contained.   
  
Newt, bless him, had already started in on the packaging. “From the British Museum storage? Who do we even know who works at the British Museum?”   
“I dunno…”    
The brown packaging opened and Newt unwrapped some ancient-looking linnen to reveal a box very similar to one that had been delivered to a small cottage in Lower Tadfield five years earlier. Newt and Anathema looked at one another in silence before the witch opened the clasp - not locked this time, though the look of the fabric shielding it from the elements spoke of a very long time in a very tucked-away place. Inside was a sheaf of ancient papers with the eerily familiar handwriting of none other than Agnes Nutter, Witch. The top paper read:   
  
[Edited for clarity]

_ Dearest Anathema and husband, _

_ Now that time enough has passed for the rethinking of your destruction of my last parcel, please take care not to singe these too badly. I do hate fire with a passion, unless it is to be rained down upon those who deserve it most. I hope these pages are able to guide you and your descendants with a gentle and helpful touch. You will do right by them and set them on their best paths. _

_ Do look after your ageless friends. They are in need of your company and magics in ways most curious for their kind. Heed the boy, and I hope you enjoy your machines. You speak to them in ways even those most magical find curious.  _

_ Tell the Former Pulsifer he is in good hands with you, as numbers were always his strength despite the curse. The marriage should have seen it lessened, if not lifted completely.  _

_ Ethereal Investments is not new, but not old. It will provide for you until you need not be provided for any longer.  _

_ -Agnes Nutter, Witch _

Newt blinked as he read over Anathema’s shoulder. “Ethereal Investments? Is that a joke? They didn’t have investment firms in the 1500’s, did they?” He scoffed, but Anathema was suddenly and frantically digging for her phone. She found it in her purse and finally returned the 3 missed calls and 24 text messages from Adam she missed in her and Newton’s Day of Insanity. (It’s not what she called it at the time, but between getting home to find their new apartment was going to be uninhabitable for at least three weeks, tracking down where her diploma had been sent as it wasn’t in their mail, getting lost twice trying to find the hotel their apartment building had booked for them, this delivery from Agnes, and the events of the next few hours, it would earn the name in spades. Which was saying something, really, since there had been that one day where she and Newt had probably averted nuclear disaster…)   
“Adam! Yes, darling, I know, I’m sorry, I’ll tell you why later. You said they weren’t- I’m sorry?” She looked at Newt and the color drained from her face. “WHY DIDN’T YOU MENTION THEIR DOOR WAS WIDE OPEN, ADAM. THAT’S FIRST-TIER INFORMATION.” Silence while she listened, then, “Alright. Alright, are you at home with your parents? Okay. We’ll come out tomorrow and we’ll all go down to the Downs together, does that sound - Yes, Dog can come…. Yes, and Pepper.” She couldn’t help the smile. “Okay, see you all tomorrow.”   
Anathema hung up then, in a fit of pique, scrolled through her mobile. She was checking her last text messages from the involved parties. An ungodly-angled, selfie-style photo of a sunglasses-clad redhead looking resentfully pleased and a brightly-smiling angel followed a message from nearly 2 weeks previous. “Bon Voyage! Don’t get into too much trouble in the Americas, last time I was there I had to hide with the Comanche for a month! The Angel says he can’t wait to see the new digs in London, even if he’s still disappointed you wouldn’t take over the bookshop. (He’s not actually, he’ll never give that place up. Don’t let him tell you otherwise). TA!”   
She’d sent a heartfelt thank-you and a quick message when they’d landed, but hadn’t noticed the lack of response in the chaos of the day. Guilt gnawed a bit at her heart, but Adam had only been by the day before…   
“Ann?” Newt was far too much of a realist to think that phone call had been anything but troubling news.   
She sighed and put down her phone. “They’re missing, Newt. Aziraphale and Crowley. They’re gone.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

An angel and a demon walked up the front path in front of a cottage in the South Downs, letting themselves into a front garden through a meticulously cared-for fence gate. One was tall, wearing a light-colored overcoat far too heavy for the weather and carrying himself like he was excited to spread the good word and solicit donations from unwilling residents. The other, shorter and far surlier, wore what appeared to be a tattered formal suit and an air of reluctance that hovered about them like a miasma.  
The taller man knocked on the door to the cottage enthusiastically.   
“After all, it’s in their best interest to accept,” Gabriel continued trying to convince his companion. He settled into himself haughtily as they found themselves on the waiting on the front stoop of the cottage. “I don’t know why they would choose not to. It’s a win on all sides! Well.. I mean, it’s a win for Upstairs and Down.” He scowled lightly at the still-closed door. “Why is it taking them so long, we know they’re in.” He knocked again, then rang the doorbell for good measure. Beezlebub gave him a side-eyed stare.  
“Well, it’s not really a _choice_ , is it?”  
Gabriel smiled a sickly-sweet, placating smile. “Welllll, true. But they won’t _know_ that it’s not, now will they!”  
“I still don’t like it,” they replied as a commotion on the other side of the door briefly preceded said door being torn open by a laughing, red-faced, slightly-disheveled, Crowley wrapped in a bedsheet.  
“Adam Young, I _told_ you to ring… before… before. Uh.” Both laughter and color drained from the demon’s face like someone pulling the plug on a television set and he swallowed audibly, clasping his bedsheet toga a little tighter around his chest. He ducked his head down, closing his uncovered eyes and unconsciously trying to hide under his long, flyabout hair. “Umm… Sorry. Wasn’t expecting- Just… gotta-” He made like he wanted to close the door but couldn’t bring himself to move.  
Before anyone could think of anything else to say (and in case either Gabriel or Beezlebub needed any further confirmation regarding activities taking place immediately prior to their arrival), Aziraphale popped into the foyer, tucking the tails of a button-down shirt into his trousers. “Who is it, Darling? Adam?” he called, then sighed at the lack of immediate response. “Adam Young. Crowley _told_ you he’d answer starkers if you showed up here again unannounced, I think the sheet is rather lucky for… oh.” His tone shifting from task-master to a breathy surprise upon laying eyes on their unexpected guests, Aziraphale immediately laid a gentle hand on Crowley’s bare shoulder. The touch seemed to shake the demon out of his frozen stupor, and he shifted to allow Aziraphale to step in front of him and into the doorway.   
“I’m just gonna go, uh… get… presentable,” he informed the angel lowly. Aziraphale turned and gave Crowley his full attention.  
“Of course, dear.” He smiled a small, encouraging thing. “I’ll bring them into the-”  
“No,” the demon hissed quietly but insistent. “I don’t… not in _our_ … Angellll” He blinked quickly several times in a row, then glanced furtively at their guests on the stoop and back again to Aziraphale’s eyes. “Outside? In the garden out back. Please? Just not… I don’t want them _in_ _our_ home.”  
Gabriel squinted, a bit confused. “You know we can hear you?”  
Aziraphale ignored his former superior and smiled - a real one this time. He ran comforting fingers through the hair at Crowley’s temple and stroked his cheek with a gentle thumb, nodding. “Of course, my dear. I understand.” He stepped away and turned halfway to face the two beings still in their doorway. He managed both to place himself between the two of them and Crowley and also block the front doorway completely. “Go get dressed, dear, I’ll show our guests to the garden,” he stated a bit louder, false cheer evident in both his body language and tone. “It is a simply beautiful day, isn’t it?”  


  
Ten minutes later, two angels and two demons were having an impromptu tea at the table in the back garden. To be more accurate, one angel was having tea, one demon was fidgeting with his cup, one angel was ignoring the idea of ingestibles altogether, and one had put more honey in the tea than liquid which, in Aziraphale’s opinion, negated the idea of Having Tea completely.  
“So that’s the idea. You all want to live like humans? Fine. You’re in human forms, no miracles, but we’ll only actively intervene every, oh… forty, fifty years or so when we need to reset ages, tune up the vessels, that sort of thing.” Gabriel clapped his hands and grinned, looking around the table like everything was all settled.  
“Why now?” Crowley wasn’t having it. He scowled through his glasses and clunked his spoon down with a definitive thunk. “You’ve left us alone for five years here on Earth. Just… keep at it. Why now?”  
Gabriel hedged. “Well, to be honest, you two have set up a bit of a… free will problem, shall we say? Upstairs. Not great. Michael and I have been having some trouble keeping the troops in line, shall we say. And we need to just NIP it in the bud, you know. Remove the example. All that.” The fact that he kept his salesman-smile in place only served to set both Crowley and Aziraphale more on guard.  
“Uh huh.” The demon turned to Beezlebub. “And downstairs?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Any… _free will problems_ you’re averting?”  
The Prince of Hell narrowed eyes at Crowley for a beat. “No.”  
Crowley’s eyebrows went up to his hairline. “No??”  
“No.” Beezlebub become very interested in their teacup. “Honestly, most of hell considers you an otherworldly monster and wants nothing to do with you until Death closes the door on the universe. To be fair, I’m rather inclined to share their opinion that even that might not stop you two, but…” They cast a derisive glare in Gabriel’s direction. “We’ve been informed that this is a rather two-for-one kind of deal. It certainly won’t work if one of you doesn’t go along, and Heaven had been… _adamant_ enough that they’ve persuaded quite a few of the higher-ups that you’re a danger unless you’re confined to a human form.”  
Gabriel’s smile turned a bit brittle. “Thank you, Beelzebub. For that incredibly candid and helpful answer.”  
“Yeah, I think that’s a solid No Thanks on my end… Angel?” Crowley stood up and gestured to Aziraphale to give him his empty teacup.  
“If we do this,” the angel instead pressed for more information from their companions. “If we do this, what would the stipulations be?”  
Gabriel, sensing he had a fish on the line, was more than happy to oblige an answer. “Well, you’d have human bodies of course. So no going off and getting killed or you’ll end up in Heaven or Hell and have to petition someone to help you find another body, or just wait around until we come check on you. No miracles, of course, and we’d scrub your memories of most things miraculous or… occultish.”  
“But we’d be left alone? In perpetuity?”  
Crowley, unsure, tried to derail the conversation. “Aziraphale…”  
“Certainly!”  
Aziraphale glanced at Crowley and there was something hard in his eyes. “Would you swear it? Here and now, an Archangel’s Holy Vow that - if we do this, neither Crowley nor myself will be bothered by any demon, angel, or other entity that we know or know of for as long as we exist?”  
Beeslebub looked a bit concerned, but Gabriel was all swagger and confidence. “Sure!” he replied with a magnanimous sort of air. “For the rest of your existence, no bothering from _anyone_ you recognize as divine or occult. Shouldn’t be difficult. Here, we can do it now!”  
“Just… wait a tick, would you?” Crowley shook his head and tried to bargain for a few seconds to think while he ducked in to put the teacups in the kitchen. Through the open window, he heard a voice that sent every red flag waving in the wind.  
“What is _taking_ so long? Just get it _done_ ,” Hastur, Duke of Hell proclaimed as he rounded the corner.   
Aziraphale stood, smoothing out the front of his waistcoat. “Good afternoon, Hastur.” He turned and addressed all three of their guests. “What, I suppose you wanted us to do it here, now?”  
Gabriel took hold of Aziraphale’s hand and shook it firmly, not letting go. “I don’t see why not. Now, let’s solidify that deal we made - you and Crowley both go through with this and nobody you recognize as divine or occult bothers you for all of existence, blah blah blah, deal? Then you can both do it right now!”  
Hastur laughed. “Why so eager, WingDings? So you can see the look on his face when this one forgets him? You really are a sick bastard.”  
Beezlebub brought their hand to their face and made a long-suffering noise. Aziraphale, still clasping Gabriel’s hand to seal their Holy Vow, frowned. “I beg your pardon?”  
Hastur sidled up quickly behind Crowley and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, hauling him backwards and making him stumble. “Can’t live a human life with memories of the divine, now, can you? Or the occult.” His smile was something horrible and the bottom dropped out of Crowley’s stomach.  
He’d known this was a bad idea.  
“What’s more divine than rememberin’ an angel?” He kicked at the back of Crowley’s knees before the redhead even had time to think about running, and he went down hard. Sandalphon was suddenly there on his other side, both angel and demon holding his arms at a strange angle that kept him from summoning a miracle big enough to assist.  
 _No._   
“Aziraphale-”  
The angel in question turned, furious, to the archangel who was trying valiantly to weasel out of an infuriated former-Cupid’s iron grip. “You said you’d leave us alone. You _Swore you’d leave us alone_!” The divinity in his angel’s voice would have brought Crowley to his knees if he hadn’t been already. Something, somewhere, started shaking that certainly shouldn’t have been shaking, and Gabriel suddenly looked _very_ concerned.  
“And We Will!” he shouted, and Aziraphale’s rage seemed to temper a bit, and Gabriel wrested his hand out of the older-looking angel’s grip. He straightened his lapels and muttered an addendum. “ _If_ you ever find one another and remember yourselves - which you won’t.” The look of shock and betrayal on Aziraphale’s face tore at Crowley’s heart as Gabriel’s fingers swung upwards. “Yes! Let’s do it here, shall we?” And he snapped his fingers. The crackle of a miracle fizzed through the air and Crowley’s angel was a crumpled heap in front of the pumpkin patch.  
“Aziraphale!” He surged up and forward, utterly incoherent of the Duke of Hell and auxiliary angel holding him back, only thinking of getting to the being laying unmoving on the grass. He nearly broke free before being slammed back into the lawn himself. He closed his eyes behind his glasses.  
  
 _This wasn’t happening. He’d fallen asleep after they made love that morning and it was all an awful nightmare. A worst-case scenario. He’d wake up and Aziraphale would be reading in bed, then they’d get up and try their hand at making something edible for when Adam came by. He was on break from Uni, was planning on dropping by for the afternoon, maybe stay the night, just like last time._  
  
Inside, Aziraphale’s old landline started ringing. He could hear it through the open windows.  
Crowley’s answering machine picked up.  
“Hi! It’s Adam! I just wanted to ring because I swear _I’m_ the one who’ll need to wear sunglasses all the time if you decide to come to the door in your birthday suit, Mr. Crowley.” A bright laugh. “I don’t even know what that’d even be _like_! Probably something out of Lovecraft. Well, I’ll see you soon! Taaa! Oh, I’ve got Dog! Kay, Bye!”  
  
The sound of the young man’s voice snapped something deep inside the demon, and all four of the ethereal beings had to work together to drag Crowley to the car kicking and screaming. (It was a miracle nobody noticed). Even then it took a couple of demonic miracles (and a rather sizable thwack to the temple from Hastur’s boot) to get him into the boot of the car Hastur had chaufferred them in. They attempted the same ritual magic on him… and then again… and some more before he gave up the ghost and collapsed, powers fading. Then Hastur had returned to the back garden to help Sandalphon transport the still-unconscious and now mostly-mortal Aziraphale while Beezlebub and Gabriel hung back.  
The Prince of Hell sighed. "I still don't like it."  
Gabriel sighed. "Well, it's what we've got. So… what, did you want to wait another five years? Maybe ten? Or twenty? How about another half century and let their heresy spread Even More?” He shook his head dismissively. “No, dissention in the ranks is already unreasonable in heaven - I can only assume your.. People are the same."  
The prince of hell buzzed agitatedly. "Still. I don't like it. He's dangerous."  
"Which one?"  
"Pick one." They squinted at the distance. "The Demon Crowley, though. He fought this. Nearly successfully.” They pinned Gabriel with an accusing stare. “You saw how much harder it was to perform the ritual than we thought it would be. Three times before it stuck."  
Gabriel scoffed. "You say that like Aziraphale didn't nearly take my head off. Did you feel the strength of that word-bond he forced on me?" He shifted uncomfortably, like his shoulders hurt from carrying too much tension.   
"Heh. Yeah. Well, serves you right! You’re the one who agreed to a _holy vow_. You lot're always underestimating them."  
"Hrmph. Well all I know is that we _better_ keep them apart. NOW if they regain their posts, it won't just be me who could lose my wings if we bother them. The whole host could fall.” He glanced sideways at his companion, trying to pass the truth off as a bit more casual than it was.  
Beezlbub whipped around to stare at him, undeceived. Gabriel somehow managed to look like he didn't see how any of this was his fault. "I TOLD you to wait until they were apart. And I TOLD you to make Hastur wait in the _car_ ,” the angel huffed. “That boost he gave it when Duke Hastur grabbed The Demon Crowley nearly blew me out of these stringless shoes."  
"Boo- They're called boots, Gabriel." Beezlbub sighed a long-suffering sigh. "Well, we'll have to keep an eye on them. Keep them apart. Keep them from remembering one another so they don’t remember themselves. I certainly don’t have the patience to deal with your entire lot all at once. The paperwork by itself would be a nightmare..."  
Gabriel shuddered, what little he knew of Hell flitting across his mind at the speed of the divine. "We'll figure out a way.”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**PRESENT DAY**

“We’ve been keeping a close eye on Aziraphale. How is it we didn’t even know Crowley was in the same building!” Gabriel fumed.   
Two beings stood on the roof of Ethereal Investments in London. The shorter one was dark enough to be negative space against the backdrop of the setting sun, with fuzzy edges you had to squint through. The second was angry gestures and kept up a consistent pacing - seven steps on direction, swivel, seven steps the other, repeat. The shorter being responded without matching energy, almost sounding bored.   
“It’s not supposed to be and neither is he. Hastur, the idiot, hired a human and decided she scared him so he hasn’t been physically in contact with the Human Crowley for a few months. He figured he’d check in once or twice every few years. Of course, this was zzz _ upposed  _ to be a job that didn’t bring him around the  _ angel _ . That was  _ your lot _ ’zz idea when we zzaid we needed to keep an eye on them after he turned out to be zzuch a ruddy awful  _ florizzzt _ .” Their annoyance started to grow and a buzzing sound began to overrun their speech. Then they snuffed through their nose and crossed their arms. “Better if we can pool resources, you said. You’re underestimating them again, I reminded you, but noooo-”   
“Fine.” Gabriel nodded in a matter-of-fact kind of way, but also in a way that was similar to an alpine hiker sticking an axe into the last bit of ice before they hurdled off a cliff. “We can fix this. Simple. Can’t tell them why they can’t see one another, they’ve already bonded enough to enjoy spending time together - ugh. Fine. We just need to… We need to kill them.”   
Beezlbub’s head turned so quickly, Gabriel wasn’t certain it’d bothered with occupying the angles between front and sideways. “I’m sorry?” The gaze was sharp, but the question sounded bored.   
“Kill them. You know,” the archangel shrugged his bespoke-tailored shoulders and continued gazing forward, across the rooftops. “So they die in a human body. Without proper intervention, they’d be trapped in the confines of a human soul.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like it wasn’t the worst thing Beezlebub had heard in the entirety of zer existence.   
“You would… you would  _ contain _ them. For eternity. In a human soul? But… that’zzz…” Horrifying? That would be a word to describe it, certainly. But what qualifies as horrifying to a Prince of Hell? More than horrifying, Beelbebub realized. Unthinkable, more like. Never mind the trouble begun in Heaven and Hell by Aziraphale and Crowley’s thoughts on the Ineffable Plan and rebellion against the Great Plan -  _ this _ was an act of true heresy. Certainly, there were legends of angels who chose to forsake their wings for mortal lives, or a demon who had earned a chance for redemption through a human life (though Beez had never heard of it through any  _ credible _ channels). But those were - if true - choices. To be trapped for eternity with the core of one’s celestial self stripped and crushed until it fit the mold of a human soul chilled Beezlebub to a core they didn’t know they possessed.    
“No. That’s a non-starter.” They scowled at Gabriel, trying to gadge what kind of  _ archangel _ thinks of doing  _ that _ to keep one lesser angel in line. “And who knows if that’s enough! Im… Imprisoning them like that. Crowley could end up in heaven, you know. He’s not tied to Hell the way he was before we made him mortal” they warned. “He hasn’t done much good, but he’s certainly not bad. What if he and Aziraphale both -”   
“Well then, we’ll just kill the one,” Gabriel amended his plan casually. Like he had been told the restaurant was closed but the one next door was open. “We’ll murder Aziraphale’s human body and let your Crowley send himself to hell on his own merits.”   
Beezlebub wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know if-”   
Gabriel scoffed, interrupting ( _ again _ ). Then he did that  _ thing _ where he squinted at Beezlebub like they were stupid and gave that dumb little pinch-lipped smile. The Prince of Hell very much had to stop themselves from hurling Gabriel over the side of the (very tall) building. “Uh, he was a  _ demon _ ? It’s in his nature to be evil, he just needs the right push. His  _ boyfriend _ disappearing on him and never speaking to him again would be perfect.” He uttered the word “boyfriend” with all the acrimonious disgust as an eleven-year-old talking about cooties.    
The Prince of Hell was, as the kids were saying these days, over it. They sighed and shook a fly-ensorcelled head. “It’s a bad idea, Gabriel, but I’m not the one who signed the paperwork approving Crowley’s reassignment and then forgot. We assigned adequate supervision per out agreement so  _ I’M  _ not the one who has to fix it.” They scowled, picking at an old stitch at their left shirt cuff. “And I’m not the one who has to tell the whole Host about the Oath with the Angel if they reclaim their true selves, am I?” The stiffening of Gabriel’s already ramrod-straight spine and tight smile made up for how infuriating he’d been. (Mostly). Feeling just a bit self-satisfied, the Prince of Hell nodded in general dismissal and turned to leave without another word exchanged between them. Gabriel stared out over the rooftops until the sun went down. Finally, as the headlights all turned on in the traffic below, he seemed to shake himself, observe the mass of humanity below, and wrinkled his nose. “Ugh, humans,” he muttered. Then, with a snap, the roof was empty.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

**Rather A Few Weeks Later**

  
“Good Morning, Sunshine.” Aziraphale sat on the edge of his bed, fully dressed and holding two mugs, poking the sprawled form of his partner with a gentle elbow. “Time to wake up, it’s nearly time to go.”   
Crowley groaned. “Ughhh I hate you so much.”   
“You do? Bad news. I thought you loved me so I made you tea.” A green-hazel eye opened and peeked out from under auburn hair. He sat up and curled up around the hot cup of tea, sniffing steam and blinking a bit. “Aaahh, okay, maybe I love you a little,” he replied with a fond smile.    
They enjoyed the softly lit silence for a beat, sipping tea.    
“Dinner at Ann and Newt’s tonight?” Crowley confirmed their Friday evening plans and received a placed smile.    
“Certainly.”   
“You sure? All that extra stuff Gabriel’s been putting on you…”   
Zira scoffed. “I’m sure, I’m sure. It’s nothing but busywork anyway. Attempts at dissuading me from anything outside the standard, I suppose.”   
A.J.’s brows furrowed and he flailed around a bit, beginning the tedious process of getting dressed. “I don’t like it. He’s obviously singling you out, and it’s  _ obviously  _ because of me. Can you… I dunno. Go to HR about it?”   
“Yes, I gather that’d go over well. Hello, Uriel? Yes, I’m in a serious relationship with my coworker, which may or may not be explicitly forbidden in the rules. My boss has been a right card about it, though, and is giving me more work than usual to do under the guise of telling me I’m the fastest in the department - which is true.” His lips quirked sideways. “Yes, I imagine that’d go over quite well.”   
“Yah, Yah, okay, I get it,” Crowley was squeezing himself into some dark skinny jeans, but still managed to look like Aziraphale was the ridiculous one. “Well, update your resume or something would ya? You don’t deserve to be treated like this.”   
“Yes, fine. It’s long overdue as it is. I ask that you please don’t mention it to anyone, including Anathema and Newton when we see them.” Zira smiled. “Wouldn’t want word getting around I’m looking for alternative paths.”   
A beat of silence passed as A.J. grinned admiringly at Zira’s plan. “I’m proud of you,” he blurted out, words tripping over one another as he stumbled on the unfamiliarity of the sentiment.   
Aziraphale smiled a private, satisfied smile in return, then finished his tea and shook himself. “Now, are you about ready?” He stood and headed towards the kitchen. “We need to catch the tube by 7:15.”   
  


They made their way to work together like usual, and parted in the building’s lobby. “I’ll see you here then?”    
“Five-thirty? Like usual?” Zira double-checked with wide, questioning eyes. He checked every plan they had, even though he hadn’t been late yet.   
AJ laughed and snuck a soft glance over his tinted lenses. “Name once we’ve met at a different time in all the Fridays we’ve been doing this, Angel,” he teased lightly. Zira blinked rapidly, tittered for a moment, then stuck up his pointer finger like a lightbulb had gone off. “Second time, when I still wasn’t certain you’d meant every evening or just that first time. We met at 5:10pm because neither of us wanted to miss the other and we’d both buggered off work early.” He smirked, haughty, as AJ blushed just a bit. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to, Anthony,” he teased back, snarky smile melting into something more fond.   
“Yah, yah. Meet you here, luv. Don’t wanna be late for Ann’s thing.” He kissed his pointer and middle fingers to his lips, the made a little finger-gun towards Zira. His buttoned-up angel rolled his eyes like usual, but AJ didn’t miss the hand coming up to “grab” next to his heart.  _ Soft bloody nonsense, I can’t believe we’re those people,  _ a voice in AJ’s head sounded.  _ Finally finally finally those people, _ it finished (which was a puzzling yet deeply honest thought). It really wasn’t right, how fast and hard they’d both dived into this thing. But at least they were in it together.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Dinner at the Device’s flat was a casual and well-traversed affair. The four of them had, at some point rather embarrassingly slowly for accountants, they staying in for dinner and drinks a few Fridays a month was a financially far superior suggestion. They’d had a wonderful dinner and were all milling aimlessly around the kitchen while Anathema filled wine glasses. Crowley wandered over to the desktop computer in the corner of the flat’s living room. Old photos faded in and out as a screensaver. As he watched, a photo of Newt and Ann standing on a rainy beach, grinning from ear to ear, was replaced by a gorgeous little cottage with a picket fence and a truly gorgeous front garden.   
“Hey Ann! Where’s this?” He called over his shoulder, sipping some more of his Pinot Gris. Zira wandered over and peered over his shoulder before it faded into another angle of the front of the house.    
“Oh, is this your Uncle Shadwell’s cottage?” he prompted his bespeckled friend.    
Newt squirmed. “Uh, yah… kinda. We,” he looked at Anathema, who only raised an eyebrow at him that said  _ oh no, please - continue _ . “We look after it for him. But it’s not… the real owners are, they’ve been, uh, away.” He shrugged, then took his glasses off and cleaned them on the edge of his t-shirt for something to do with his hands. Zira frowned a bit, unable to parse where his young friend’s nerves were suddenly erupting from, as Newt continued.    
“The garden really is beautiful, though. Last time we went by the whole back path was in bloom. Like it was waiting for us…” He smiled - oddly enough - directly at Anthony. “Annie’s favorites were all there, just in a row. All blooming at once.”   
Crowley nodded, and leaned in to look at the photos as they cycled through.   
“Well, whoever made up that garden was a genius, it’s gorgeous!” He smiled, sighing wistfully. “I always thought I’d like a garden. I mean, I’ve got a couple potted plants, but they never really live too long, do they?”   
Anathema teased him lightly. “You could do i easy! You’re always reading about gardening and the like. You’ve got plenty of plants at home.”   
Her friend smiled ruefully. “Sure, but they’re all super easy breeds to keep alive. Even then I can never really remember what to do with ‘em. Read all I can, it never sticks… I do like ‘em, though, plants.” He smiled. “Too bad.”   
Zira, still watching Newt with some concern, saw the stricken expressions the young couple exchanged at Anthony’s words. Luckily, the man in question was too interested in photos of his best friend amongst the calla lilies. Newt was suddenly pulling Anathema a few steps away and into the hall.

  
“We have to tell them, Annie,” he whispered urgently as soon as they had cleared the doorframe.   
Anathema spared a glance in the direction of their sitting room, then back at Newt. “I don’t know. I… it never says…  _ Agnes  _ never says-”   
Newt clasped at her upper arms, bending slightly to catch her darting eyeline. “Annie. They took away his  _ plants _ , darling. What else did they take? We can’t… it’s not  _ fair _ . They’re our friends, luv. We have to tell them.”   
Anathema huffed out an exasperated breath. “Anges  _ never says _ if we actually tell them or  _ not _ ,” she scowled. “Though I suppose there’s really no other way for-”   
“Tell us what?” Zira had stepped into the hall, arms crossed across a barrel-chest, still in full view of the sitting room. AJ wandered over, curiosity evident in the tilt of his head. Anathema made an exasperated sound and threw up her hands. “Everyone go sit in the living room, I’ll go get the Book.”   
AJ had missed something very important, it seemed. “Book?” he asked Zira as the slightly shorter man ushered him over to the couch.   
“I don’t know, dear,” he placated. “Here, sit.”

Anathema returned with a stack of typed pages held together in a three-ring binder. They were laminated (Newt’s doing). She explained all about a witch in the Old Days named Agnes Nutter. About growing up as a Decedent, Newt chimed in with a story as absurd as it was romantic about becoming a “Witchfinder” as a means for a steady income and meeting the magical love of his life in a tornado. Then Anathema began to tell tales. About angels and children who fought heaven and hell and ran off the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. About a boy who was the antiChrist but chose to become human. Crowley had three more glasses of wine and squinted silently through his tinted lenses over the course of the narrative, not saying a word. Aziraphale, on the other hand, seemed to find the entire exercise somewhere between exasperating and troubling. When Anathema and Newt finally asserted that the angels at the end of the universe were, in fact, Zira and A.J. themselves, the white-haired fellow had had enough of indulging his friends.   
“That’s where we met you for the first time. We all kind of… stood around and somehow stopped the end of days. Then got dinner later in the week, and the rest is history. We got the second copy of the new prophecies the day Adam found out you were missing, and we’ve been trying to figure out how to help you regain your memories ever since.”   
“I’m sorry, I simply don’t find this funny at all, you two,” stated Aziraphale with finality. “I appreciate what you may  _ think _ you’re trying to do, but I believe we’d best be on our way for the evening.” He stood, and nodded at Newt. “I’ll see you Monday, dear boy. Anthony? I’m going to get our coats.”   
“For God’s sake, Aziraphale, you were at my wedding! Do you not remember?” Newt, frustrated, stood and hit a frustrated fist on the table. Zira was scowling daggers at the young man.   
“I don’t know when I told you that name, but I’d appreciate my  _ dreams _ not be exploited for some kind of a joke.” He spun on his heel and headed down the hall towards the coat rack.   
Anathema was carding through some photos in a shoebox that had appeared about the time Adam had entered their story. “No, Zira. We know it sounds patently insane but there’s...here” She pulled out a photo, calling towards the doorway Zira had just ducked around. She waved it after him. “There’s this other family too! I’m honestly not sure how they fit except they were photographed with someone named Hastur LaVista - who was _obviously_ not one of ours - for some reason on the same day of the Non-Pocalypse! And you both told me all about him... I think the boy was supposed to be in Adam’s place. Same birthday, same hospital… anyway his name’s-”   
Crowley had been mostly quiet but now darted out of his seat and snatched the photo out of her hand. “Warlock,” he interrupted quietly, with a hollow ache in his voice. Long fingers touched the picture-boy’s face gently, like too fast a movement may shatter the crystal moment into a thousand pieces. He looked at Anathema, stricken. “I dream of this boy, Ann. I dream of him like he’s my own.”   
Anathema smiled a small, sad smile. “He’s apparently just gotten into law school, and he’s doing so well. Adam friended him on Facebook, somehow, when we realized you two had gone missing.” She laid a gentle hand on Crowley’s upper arm. “He’s looked for you, Nanny Azathoth.” Something cracked deep down in Crowley. (So deep, one might imagine he’d have lived his entire life without knowing it was there, were it not for this horrific, beautific moment of clarity. Everything she’d told him was true. He didn’t know how he knew, but he was  _ certain _ ). Tears welled up and he cursed his inability to keep them in check as he leveled an utterly mournful gaze at his friend.   
“Ann, no.”   
The young witch nodded, lower lip shaking, and managed a small smile.   
“But that… that means I’m… we’re?” He sniffled just a little, eyes pleading with Anathema to tell him this was just a big joke. “But we’re happy,” he whispered.   
His friend leaned close. “You were before, too,” she assured him quietly.   
“Anthony? Darling, are you all right?” Aziraphale’s concerned tone came from somewhere in the general direction of the door.    
“Just saying goodbye,” he called in response, blinking quickly and arranging his features into something a bit less miserable. Anathema pulled him into a tight hug.   
“You were, it’ll be alright. You two always find one another, no matter what,” she mumbled against his shoulder. They pulled apart, and she leveled her best no-nonsense gaze at her best friend. “You remember the cottage? The one we take care of?”   
Crowley nodded, the confused furrow in his brow melting away as he picked up on her meaning. “That’s impossible. I’ve… I’ve lived in the city my whole life. I’ve… Ann…” A bit of hope peaked its head into his expression.   
“What, you think  _ Captain Shadwell _ could have pulled off something that cool? You met him that one time...” The witch smiled up at him and let go, stepping away and smiling over Crowley’s shoulder at Aziraphale. “Make sure this one gets home safe, would you Zira?”    
“Yes, quite,” was Aziraphale’s curt response. He was obviously still a bit wrong-footed after the entire conversation, having resumed hovering near the coat rack at the front door. “Darling, are you ready?”   
Anathema’s gaze flicked back to her friend’s glasses. “We’ll talk Monday,” she whispered conspiratorially, and pushed a folded piece of paper into his palm..    
“Yeah,” Crowley could hear the wobble in his own voice and cleared his throat, pocketing the note. “Yes. Yeah, let’s go. I’ll see you Monday, Ann.” He nodded at Newt. “Witchfinder,” he acknowledged in his usual teasing tone. “Don’t go breaking the new update at work ‘till I’ve had my morning coffee, ya?”

Newt threw a sarcastic salute in his direction, smiling underneath, and wished them a safe journey home.    
  


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Curled up later that night, with Zira’s warm skin pressed up against his own from the back of his neck to his toes, Crowley found his thoughts drifting to the story Anathema and Newt had spun for them that evening. Everyone knew the story of Agnes Nutter - just like everyone “knew” about Nostradamus or Houdini - but the fact that Anathema claimed to have a whole new set of prophecies from her confused and intrigued him. He thought about the strip of paper she’d given him. It had read “Proph. 27:  _ Whan al seems lost and the wey ys unclear, reclaim thyne true natures and drede not! For it ys not such a long wey to fall.  _ _   
_ “Angel?” He shifted against the warm body behind him and hugged the firearm across his chest. “What if… what if that’s what you really were?”   
Aziraphale tightened his hold on Crowley and nuzzled into the back of his neck. “You mean what if we were angels, like Newt and Anathema’s nonsense this evening?” He smiled against the back of Crowley’s shoulder. “I don’t suppose much would change. Maybe a shorter refractory period.” He huffed out a soft laugh, grazing his teeth against a tendon in the neck in front of him for good measure. Crowley shivered and brought his hand up to play with the feather-soft hair at the back of Zira’s head. (If he was subtly encouraging the continuation of those teasing teeth, well, that was just a happy side effect wasn’t it?)   
“Nn-nuh. Like… what if… what if you and I… Do you think we could stop an apocalypse?”   
He felt Zira smile against his skin. “Well, if our friends are to be believed, we already did,” he laughed, continuing to distract the man in front of him with teeth and subtle tongue. Crowley, bless him, was trying with all his might to cling to the thread of the conversation.

“But… Nff,” his fingers tightened around the curls under his fingers as a particularly sharp bite sent a thrill down his spine. “What if… what if Ann’s right? And we’re… we’re trapped like this? For a reason?” Despite wanting to talk about this (for some  _ silly _ reason,  _ why _ was this so important??), he couldn’t help the tiny whine that escaped as Zira pulled away and propped himself up on his elbow to properly assess him. Anthony, for his part, rolled onto his back to meet his lover’s eyes. Despite the small distance between them, the redhead couldn’t help but note how  _ right _ it felt to be sheltered underneath Zira, like nothing unfortunate could ever befall them so long as they were together.   
Zira squinted, assessing, then asked, hesitant:. “Do you feel… trapped?” His too-sincere eyes searched the gold-flecked depths of AJ’s own. “I know we spend an inordinate amount of time together, and if you’d like-”   
Unable to stand being the cause of such a shift in confidence, AJ leaned up and captured Zira’s mouth in a kiss he desperately hoped conveyed everything he was feeling. He felt the body above him relax and settle his weight comfortably - half onto Crowley and half on the bed - so hopefully he’d conveyed his message. Just in case, though, he pulled away and looked seriously into Zira’s face.   
“No. Never. Never with you.” He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “I mean, I used to. Before. I’d…err... Do you ever feel like you’re just… too big for your skin? Or like your bits and bobs and arms and legs just, ah, aren’t in the right place?”   
Zira smiled fondly down at the now-nervous man below him, amused at the switch. “I suppose, sometimes, it can feel like I’m fit to burst with feeling. Like my skin can’t really contain it.” He kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose. “But I must admit, it’s a bit of a recent development.”   
Crowley buried his sudden, intense blush in the crook of Zira’s neck and wrapped long arms around his back, holding fast. “Cor, angel, y’can’t just  _ say  _ things like that.”   
For his part, Zira held him just as close. “I can and I will, my love. Until you believe it,” he responded blithely into a mop of red hair.   
At a loss for adequate response, Crowley shifted until they were both wrapped as closely as they could manage while still being comfortable and signed happily.    
  


&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Monday arrived and Crowley strolled in approximately twenty minutes late. Anathema had been marginally worried he’d disappeared again, breathing a sigh of relief when he and his shades popped around her cube wall and plopped into his desk to start the day. It was late afternoon before they were caught up enough on the weekend’s backlog to talk about anything personal. Though once the opportunity arose, it only took Crowley about six minutes to take out the paper with the prophecy on it and wave it at his friend.   
“So… I’ve been thinking. A lot. Particularly about the wording on this thing.” He he gave it a hostile flick with his fingers and leveled his gaze at Anathema. “Why’d you give it to me?”   
“I mean… It’s for both of you,” she tried to counter but Crowley shook his head.    
No it wasn’t. That was for me whether Zira believed you or not, wasn’t it?” He tilted his glasses up onto his forehead and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “In this little… scenario of yours. I’m… I’m not an angel, am I?”   
Looking dejected but resolved, Anathema shook her head. “No, AJ. I’m sorry.”   
Crowley sniffed imperiously, flicking the shades back down into place. “Figured. Explains the fear of heights, at least.” He smiled a harsh thing, like he was trying very hard to believe it was all pretend but couldn’t quite convince himself. They sat in silence for a few moments, not even typing, until Anathema put her hand on Crowley’s shoulder.   
“It’s a moot point anyway,” she tried to be comforting. A.J. tilted his head just barely, indicating she should continue. “Well, you’d happy now. And healthy. And it’s not like Zira’s gonna believe it - he simply doesn’t want to and from your stories about how dedicated he was to Heaven even while they were actively being jerks, well… it appears his ability to compartmentalize is still magical despite being a human somehow.” She laughed a bit at her own joke and was pleased it pulled a huff out of her friend. “I mean, he’s happier than he’s ever been!” She plowed on. “Except maybe at the cottage, but that was like… a blip! So of course he’d happy to stay like this. And honestly? There’s no real rush to figure everything out. It’s not like it’s the end of the world again… I hope.” She added the last bit quietly to herself. If Crowley heard, he didn’t acknowledge it. He nodded slowly.   
“Kay,” he finally responded.   
Anathema waited, but there was no follow up. “Kay?” she tried to get clarification.   
“Okay,” was the response. Then the man next to her shook himself. “ _ If _ it’s real, than there’s no hurry to figure it out. So I’m just gonna continue living my life and we’ll see how things go, yah?”   
Anathema smiled a bit sadly. “Yah. Okay, A.J..”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The days ticked by and Crowley meant to forget all about the assertion that he as an impossible being. He also meant to forget all about the prophecy allegedly from Agnes Nutter (witch) that he couldn’t seem to help carrying around in his pocket. He’d look at it sometimes, just to prove he was being ridiculous. Or to stare at it in a blank, anxious daze, Or - more recently - glare at it angrily as stranger and stranger things began happening around Zira. (His angel, of course, refusing to acknowledge anything beyond a streak of “rather exemplary luck lately, my dear. I suspect it’ll turn around in a week or two and I’ll get my suede jacket rained on or some such nonsense.”)   
They started off easily dismissable. An open table at reservation-only restaurants they thought to try. Finding a lost book or even a misplaced shoe in exactly the first place he looked. The door to his flat being unlocked (despite both of their fastidiousness regarding privacy) the one time he locked them out. These were easy to explain, then there were the things Zira was dismissing which A.J. frankly couldn’t understand. His overnight bag, packed that morning and  _ definitely _ accidentally left under his desk at work appearing whole cloth on the bed in the bedroom neither had set foot in yet. Zira’s morning tea simply being… ready on the counter when he awoke. The memorable Friday he drunkenly informed Newt “By God, my boy, without you where would I be? You deserve a drink. No! You deserve all the drinks. Free drinks for Life! That’s what you should get.” He had then snapped his fingers in the direction of a server who had (rightly) ignored him, and not two minutes later Newt had gone for another round, returned, and informed the table they’d won a contest of scrupulous origin and their entire tab would be covered. (He’d been the recipient of various contest wins, promotions, and strange coupons ever since and indeed, had not once paid for a beer in the ensuing three weeks.) When Crowley attempted to point this out, Zira had laughed and accused him of allowing Anathema’s superstitions to rub off on him. He then reminded Crowley there was no such thing as magic and changed the topic to something else. Although A.J. had nothing whatsoever in his personal experience before now to make him think so, he thought he might be starting to disagree with Zira. Anathema might be right, and magic might be more pedestrian than he’d ever imagined.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Zira was in Gabriel’s office and he was not pleased.   
  
It was Friday, already after five, and he was about to be late to meet Anthony for the first time. He hadn’t even grabbed his cell phone to shoot a quick text. It was packed in his coat pocket, which he’s been shrugging on in preparation to leave when he’d been told Mr. VonTrapp needed to see him  _ immediately _ . His annoyance grew as he sat quietly while Gabriel finished the  _ most inane phone call to have ever occurred _ . He was supposed to be sidling up beside Anthony in the lobby by now. He’d be slipping his hand around long fingers and heading towards the Italian fusion restaurant they’d managed to snag a reservation for. Finally, his supervisor wrapped up the phone call and turned towards Zira, fingers steepled on the desk in front of him.    
“Arthur! Glad we caught you! We’re going to need you to stay late tonight and work on the Great Planning Account. We’ll need it done my midnight.”   
Zira balked. Great Planning had only made it into his inbox on Wednesday and was a massive, practically indecipherable mess of paperwork. “Even if I started now I wouldn’t make that deadline, Gabriel. It’s a solid week of work even if I ignore all of my other responsibilities.” He sighed. “I’ll come in later tomorrow and-”   
“No. I’m sorry, but it needs to be done tonight.” Gabriel’s demands had been slowly growing in scale and shrinking in reason for some time, but this took the was a step above.   
Zira took a breath to calm his nerves, even if his body felt like it was preparing for a fight. “I apologize, but I simply haven’t been given enough notice that I’d be required to work overtime. This doesn’t work for tonight. I can come in tomorrow or you can find someone else to do it.”   
The smile on Gabriel’s face morphed subtly from something fake to something menacing. “Oh, you’ll do it. Call and cancel your little date, because you’re staying here.”   
“You… you’re doing this on purpose!” Zira was half gobsmacked and half livid. He stood angrily and stalked toward the door. Gabriel stood behind his desk.   
“Where do you think you’re going!” he demanded.    
“Oh I think Human Resources would be fascinated with your preoccupation with sabotaging the personal relationship of a gay man, don’t you? That doesn’t particularly strike me as in keeping with the inclusive aesthetic,” he bit out, hand landing on the doorknob.   
Gabriel pointed forcefully at the door. “Don’t you dare leave this office, we are  _ not _ finished. If you think-”   
“I know exactly what I think, Mister VonTrapp,” Zira retorted, squinting derisively. “I think you consider yourself far less replaceable than you actually are. You’re not special, Gabriel. I don’t have to listen to you. All I have to do is say the words I Quit and any authority you think you have disappears like THAT!” He snapped his fingers to illustrate the point and… well… that was when ALL the papers on Gabriel’s desk went POOF and flew into the air in every direction at once. 

There was a moment of shocked silence while both parties watched the last of the papers settle gently to the floor. Gabriel seemed to get over his surprise the fastest, dropping his chin to his chest and starting a low, chilling laugh that was like nothing Zira had ever heard.   
“Ohhhhh, Clever. Clever Aziraphale.” Gabriel looked up with eyes like a predator.  _ The name from his dreams. The name Anthony had cried a few times in his sleep. The name Newton had known despite Zira being certain he’d never shared that detail with his young friend. _ _   
_ But Gabriel was still talking, frustration and circumstance apparently having hewn his anger into a razor-sharp calm. “Beez always did tell me I underestimated you two… looks like they were right again.” He leveled his gaze at Zira. “You won’t tell zem, will you?”   
“What are you-” Zira’s head was spinning.   
“Of course you won’t.” He sighed. “Well, I guess there’s nothing for it. And not even a demon around to do the dirty work, pity. Oh well... “ He snapped and suddenly the office was as pristine as ever. Zira would have gaped if he wasn’t so distracted by the icy terror creeping up his throat.   
_ Anathema. _ _   
_ Anathema was right. There was something very unnatural happening here. He slowly stood and started creeping his hand back towards the doorknob.   
Meanwhile, Gabriel continued speaking to no-one in particular. “I suppose ridding the world of a heretic of the highest order couldn’t possibly be considered a sin, of course. Still, I’m certain it would look strange if another human saw us.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers in Zira’s direction just before the other man could successfully navigate the door. He felt his legs go out from under him. Before he could articulate any of his dozens of potential questions, there was another sound of snapping fingers. Zira’s last thoughts, before everything went black, were of Anthony, likely still waiting for him downstairs.    
_ Oh, darling. _ He thought with all his heart.  _ Run. _

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

In the lobby, Crowley had begun an agitated pacing that was keeping even the security guard off his case. It was near to six and they were going to be late for their reservation. The reservation wasn’t the true cause for the agitation, however. You see, Zira hadn’t been later than 5:35 since they started meeting and walking to the tube together. Checking his watch one last time and then confirming his texts and phone calls had indeed remained unanswered, Crowley threw the appearance of decorum to the wind and headed up the elevator to Zira’s floor.    
He shouldn’t have worried about being observed or asked why he was on the floor. Over thirty minutes past quitting time on one of the first nice Friday evenings of the spring meant that the entire floor was deserted. The redhead poked a nose into Zira and Newt’s office. It was empty, but the lights were lit and Zira’s things were all there, stacked and organized as though he was about to head out and disappeared. The volume of A.J.’s background anxiety began to increase as he wandered around the dark accounting department. Heading to the restrooms to see if perhaps he’d ducked in, Crowley heard a loud BANG from across the floor. Seeing Gabriel VonTrapp and not wanting to get Zira in more trouble, he ducked down behind a cubicle wall and peered out. But then - oh no.   
The tall, broad supervisor in the strange, lavender suit was hauling what appeared to be a marginally-conscious Zira into the elevator! Full-blown panic seized Crowley’s heart and lungs and he froze, only able to watch as the guy who’d always put him off for some unnamable reason managed to get them both into the elevator and shut the doors. Assuming that Gabriel would be taking Zira to the lobby for some kind of assistance, A.J. sprinted for the other elevator and was about to press the button when he noticed the elevator he’d just seen his beloved dragged into was actually headed… up?   
“Wha..?” He frowned at the floor lights, blinking all the way up, up to the top of the building. Then, in lieu of simply lighting up the top floor’s number, the light simply disappeared.   
Something was not right.   
Crowley shoved himself into the next elevator and took it all the way to the top floor. To his utter dismay, there wasn’t a soul to be found. There was, however, an emergency exit to the roof propped open with nothing at all. Crowley stood at the open doorway, peering up and into the dark stairway hesitantly. He didn’t have anything with him. (He’d dropped his bag with Zira’s in his office at the beginning of this wild hunt). No telephone, not even his jacket. He stuck his hand into his pocket. Nope, nothing except that ubiquitous paper with Ann’s damnable prophecy on it. ( _ Fat lot of good that’d do him now _ , he thought.) Heart beating like a butterfly’s wing and feeling a bit sick with anxiety, A.J. stepped into the dark and headed up the stairs. He took a steadying breath, resolved to do his best to “fake it til he made it” as the saying went, and - spurred by worry for Zira - started scaling the stairs as quickly as he could manage. Finally ceeding to the lack of light, he pushed his glasses up into his hair and, squinting, booked it up the staircase.

Crowley had dashed up the last few flights of stairs to the roof with more finesse than he usually thought himself capable of. The emergency door at the top, usually bolted fast unless the sprinklers were on, opened just as easily for him as he’d imagined it might. Busting onto the rooftop, he’d been nearly blinded by the last rays of sunset as they shone directly into his face. He registered two figures huddled together beside Zira’s crumpled form. They looked to be arguing, though he couldn’t hear them from this distance. He recognized Gabriel. The other, well… it was shortish, and blackish, and fuzzy? Like a slightly out of focus photo, walking around in the real world. Seeing his lover crumpled on the ground broke some final hesitancy deep in A.J.’s psyche and he threw caution to the wind  
“Oi! Jackass! What in the _royal fuck_ do you think you’re up to?”  
Gabriel’s head snapped up at the new voice. (He was, obviously, not expecting company. This is because Gabriel had no idea what the two ethereal-beings-currently-housed-in-human-bodies were truly capable of). The other face turned too, and a deja-vu sense of recognition rooted Crowley to the spot as they spoke with a voice made of a tight, buzzing vibrato.  
“I TOLD YOU.”  
Whatever it was, it was angry. (Though, it appeared, not as much at Crowley as it was at Gabriel).  
Gabriel looked about as put out as he’d look if a waiter had served him raw chicken. “Well,” he replied testily to the human-shaped-thing next to him. (It was a wonder Crowley could hear them now, but the wind had chosen that exact moment to start blowing in a way he imagined would carry their voices. Lucky.) “I suppose we’ll just have to frame him for murder or something, I don’t _know_. I’m SURE human-prison isn’t terribly pleasant. Besides, who’s gonna believe him?”  
 _Murder? What in god’s name were they…._ _  
_ _Zira._ _  
_Crowley took in the body at their feet, which was slowly starting to stir and sit up.  
“Zira. Zira! Are you all right?!” He called, desperately trying to convince his feet to run him out to Zira.  
“Anthony. Darling. Get out of here, go back and call-” Zira tried to get more out, but Gabriel leveled a glare in his direction and put his finger to his lips in a shushing gesture and, while the man’s mouth kept moving, all sound stopped.  
Suddenly, all three pairs of eyes to him. Well, nothing for it now. He took a deep breath, plastered on his most flash smile, did his best to channel James Bond, and stepped fully out onto the rooftop to join them. The slam of the emergency door behind him would have sounded ominous, if he’d had the spare brainpower to think on it.  
  
“Gabriellll, Duuuuuuude. What’s all this?” He sauntered forward and gestured to the smaller human-shaped blurry thing. “Bringing on new staff? I would think the conference room’s more in keeping with company policy, don’t you?” He shoved his hands in his front jeans pockets and hunched his shoulders. “A bit brisk up here, in’t it?”  
“Anthony J. Crowley. How is it you _always_ end up in places you shouldn’t be? mmMMM?” Gabriel leaned into Crowley with a curiously dismissive tone. “Beez, any ideas?”  
“Hmph. Probably something to do with his nature, I ‘spect. Always stickin’ his nose and… other things... where it don’t belong.” The human-shaped-blurry-thing looked him up and down, disgusted. “I told you, you and the others upstairs. Never listen to a demon with a brain, do ya. Even if that brain’s done more thinking in a week than you lot’ve done in your whole existence.”  
“Not now, Beezlbub,” Gabriel sighed. “We have to figure _this_ out, then you can remind me how you were right and I was wrong and I’ll ignore you like always.”  
 _Beez…_ “Wait - Beelzebub? Like… Prince of Hell in Christian mythology, Beezlebub? WELL! What a surprise!” So far, the veneer of nonchalance and a lack of fear was working like a charm. It felt comfortable, this persona, and seemed to convey a sense that he was more in charge of the situation than he was. A.J. liked that feeling very much. So he plowed onwards, outstretching a hand towards the alleged Prince of Hell. “It’s lovely to meet you, let alone find out an entire religious framework is correct. Tell me, was the internet yours? Because I can’t imagine that one” (he nodded at Gabriel, speaking out of the side of his mouth) “thinking up something like four-chan, really.” Both standing figures seemed to find Crowley no more than slightly amusing. Though the blurry figure did let out a small chuckle at the more casual jokes, which caused several dozen flies to take flight from their perches on their person. (That was when Crowley realized the blurriness was due to the thousands of winged insects covering every inch of the figure’s person in at least one layer. He fought an initial instinct to wretch and doggedly kept his swagger as he approached).  
“Really, though. A real, live, Prince of Hell. And who are you, then,” he nodded at his partner’s boss. “You the real Archangel Gabriel? Flaming sword and everything?”  
Gabriel smiled a sickly smile. “No, no flaming swords. That’s more _this_ one’s cup of coffee.” He kicked Zira for emphasis and Crowley saw red, temperament whipsawing faster than he could have ever imagined. It was like he wasn’t feeling things like he normally did.  
“Oi! You touch him again and I’ll throw you right off this roof,” he glowered. Hands were out of pockets, now. Flash smile gone. He strode forward until he was encroaching on Gabriel’s personal space, left hand clenched in a tight fist at his side, right hand waving a warning finger in the other man’s face. “Test me, see if I won’t.” Gabriel smiled that shit-eating smile he had… then waved his hand and Crowley was tumbling ass-over-teakettle backwards. He hit his head hard and sparks swam in his vision.   
“ANTHONY!”  
“Zzzeeee, you can’t even keep him quiet! ZZey’re too powerful together,” Beezlebub rounded on Gabriel.  
The aforementioned archangel hauled Zira up by his collar and approached the crumpled Crowley slowly. “Ahhhh, not to worry, Beez. Let’s let the love of his existance’s final screams haunt the rest of his mortal life.” He smiled. It was horrible. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll drive him home and into your and Haster’s loving embrace sooner than later.”  
Beelzebub rolled zer eyes, though nobody could tell under the layers of flies.  
Crowley, meanwhile, tried to stand. Everything in him wanted to lie down and lose itself to the blissful numbness of unconsciousness, but Gabriel was looming closer, hauling a struggling Fell with him. It was disconcerting, seeing Zira struggling so desperately against the grip on his arm when Crowley was so intimately aware of the studied strength and surprising amount of muscle hidden beneath his nondescript dress shirts.  
“Ziraphale?. ‘Zira,” he blinked hard and shook the haze away, scrabbling against the concrete behind him to stand.   
“Oh, it’s still fighting!” Gabriel’s mocking tone lit something sulfurous and rotten in the pit of Crowely’s stomach. _Oh_ , he thought disjointedly, _this is what hate feels like_.  
“Anthony, please. Run, darling. Leave me, and get to Anathema. Tell her -”  
“Do shut UP,” Gabriel shook Zira like he was a rag doll, then turned to a now-upright Crowley. “What’d you think? The initial plan was just throwing him off the roof, but now that _you’re_ here…” A blade that had been nowhere a moment before was suddenly in Gabriel’s hand, drifting ponderously in a random pattern around Zira’s throat. “I’m beginning to contemplate all these delightfully human options that’d look particularly _damning_ on a police report… that is what they’re called? A police report?” He took the beat of silence as acquiescence. “See, I’m getting the hang of this whole humanity-thing.”  
“If you hurt him, I swear to god-”  
“Don’t you get it?” Gabriel snarled at Crowley. “She’s. Not. Listening. And she _certainly_ doesn’t care about _YOU._ ” _  
_Not really thinking, Crowley took a step backwards and was halted by the concrete ledge that separated the rest of the roof from the yawning emptiness between buildings. Panic sprang up, icy and overwhelming, like he was a cornered animal. He stepped up onto the ledge.  
“What, trying to get some perspective?” Gabriel mocked, knife still perilously close to his Zira’s beloved bowtie.   
  
Gabriel stood in front of the Crowley’s perch, an incapacitated Zira in his grasp. Beelzebub had positioned themselves between between the three of them and the door. They were stuck. He closed his eyes for a moment; tried to remember how it’d felt that morning in bed, waking up slowly and wrapping himself around a sleep-warm Zira. He just wanted _that_ again. He wanted _that_ every day, and maybe…   
Anathema had said they had been happy before.  
They had found one another again, and they were happy now.  
Maybe they could be happy again, if…  
Well, nothing for it then.  
Crowley took a steeling breath and tilted his glasses back up and into his hairline, revealing his eyes. Smiling that flash-Bond smile again, he stuck his hands back into his pockets and grasped the paper Anathema had given him earlier that week.  
“Gabriel, are you familiar with the works of one Agnes Nutter, Prophetess?” he asked with performative curiosity. He started a slow, small pace along the ledge.   
“You mean the witch who helped you throw the Big One the _first time_? Nooooo, never heard of her.” Gabriel scoffed sarcastically. “Though I’ve got it on good authority the book ended with you two numbskulls helping save the world, so I’d love to know what she has to do with anything.”  
Crowley whipped the crumpled paper from his pocket and waved it around temptingly.  
“Ah, ah, ah… the _first_ book of prophecies did, sure. BUT. The second?” He whistled. “Well… even I don’t know when that one ends.” His flash smile turned vicious as the Gabriel momentarily dropped the human facade and flared in an unearthly manner.   
Crowley cleared his throat.   
“Eh heh heh hem. And I quote - _When all seems lost and the way is unclear,_ _  
_I feel like that’s a pretty accurate assessment of our situation, wouldn’t you? Oi! “ He yelled over Gabriel’s shoulder at Beelzebub. “Wouldn’t you say that’s accurate? C’mon, you don’t need to stand all the way back there, I’m not gonna make a break for the door, if that’s what you’re worried about-”  
“Crowley, Dear! Do you _really_ think it’s Wise to-”  
“Hey, Hey, get on with it!” Gabriel bellowed over all of them. He was oddly intense, and his grip had slackened on Fell’s arm.  
For his part, Crowley’s overconfident demeanor seemed to fail for just a moment when he heard Zira’s voice. They made eye contact, and the redhead finished the prophecy with nary a glance at the paper.  
“ _When all seems lost and the way is unclear, reclaim thyne true natures and fear not,”_ he stated flatly, _“for it is not such a long way to Fall.”_ Crumpling the paper in his hand, he opened his palm and let it blow away on the ever present breeze. The sun was setting, streaks of burnt orange and crimson setting the whole city on fire. It was beautiful.  
But all he could see was Arthur Zira Fell. The heat-soft colors of the sun were setting his hair ablaze, and he was more than beautiful - marvelous. He was suddenly reluctantly grateful for his terrible eyesight. If he could see Zira’s face, he’d never be able to do this. _Dear god… Dear… Somebody. I can’t love him like this all at once. A man can’t take this, it’ll burn me up._ Then, for the first time in his life, he prayed. _Please let this be real. Let me not be crazy._  
Blinking back tears that should by rights be only natural considering the wind - certainly not because he was getting emotional, definitely not - he stopped pacing and peered down, over the side and down down down _down_ to the street. “You think it hurts as much the second time?” he asked quietly. Gabriel stood stock still, trying to parse what he’d just heard, but Beelzebub squinted suspiciously at him. Towering over them all from his concrete parapet, Crowley turned to face them straight on, face hard, back to the awning abyss. “Wanna find out?”  
He looked at Zira, face twisted in utter confusion, and the James Bond mask melted away. He kissed his pointer finger and snapped it at Zira with the smile of a heart breaking.  
And Zira knew what he was going to do. He shook his head, not quite believing.   
“no...”  
“I _love_ you, angel,” Crowley managed.  
“No.”  
There was a flurry of movement wherein the archangel and the prince of hell both dove for him in a single moment of realization. But the heels of his dress shoes had already been hanging precariously off the building’s outermost membrane.   
“CROWLEY!”  
“DEMON!”  
“NO!!!”  
A.J. threw his hands out to the sides, looking for all the world like he was about to flop into bed. Then he tipped backwards, pushed off, and Anthony J. Crowley was falling.

_ You know _ , Crowley thought around Floor 27, _ likely gruesome demise at the end notwithstanding, falling from great heights wasn’t nearly as bad as his nightmares would have had him believe. _ It wasn’t the most thought-out plan, to be fair. To hurl oneself off a precipice and into nothingness on nothing but faith in some words on a piece of paper and a bone-deep conviction that something  _ wasn’t right _ wasn’t going to go down in the world’s list of most-well-conceived plans. He was likely going to win a Darwin Award for this, if Zira lived long enough to submit his application anyway. 

No not Zira.

Aziraphale.

His angel. His  _ Angel _ . His literal angel. And he was…   
  
The wind whooshing around his ears was an overwhelming white noise and it suddenly occurred to him that he’d been falling for an  _ awfully _ long time. He should by all rights have hit the pavement in front of Cats, Cats & Cats next door to their building at least a few seconds ago but instead he was somehow still falling. The only thing racing faster than his own terminal velocity was his mind, processing memories and images that were both his own and not. Down and down and he could see the top of Ethereal Investments getting further and further away at speed, but the ground simply wasn’t appearing. Why, for all intents and purposes it felt as though he could just snap his fingers and - Well why the hell not?  _ Might as well try _ .    
*Snap*

Bump.

Anthony J. Crowley was no longer falling.    
No, he was.    
Just very slowly. 

Something was arresting Crowley’s decent. No, not something. Some wings. HIS WINGS. Black and powerful and as much a part of him as his hand or his heart, enormous wings sprouted from between his shoulder blades and flapped lazily to slow his fall from terminal velocity to a slow drift. Though, in his initial surprise, he forgot to keep flapping and dropped the last few inches. The demon landed with a plop on warm, soft sand in what appeared to be a perfectly temperate, never-ending desert. Sun was high in the sky and warm on his face, and he squinted. He’d lost his glasses at some point in his freefall, but with the sudden thought that he needed a pair some appeared in his hand. He recognized this place. It was his, and he was no human. Suddenly everything in his mind slotted into place like it’d only been waiting for the right signal to follow gravity and fall right back into its allocated space. He moved to slip the sunglasses over his otherwise-very-clear-thanks vision and caught a glimpse of a familiar yellow reflection in their lenses. A dangerous, delighted grin overtook his face as he settled them in place, snapped his fingers to clean up his clothes a bit, shook his wings out a bit, and decided to take a quick stroll about the place to make sure he had all his memories in order. 

** BACK ON THE ROOF **

All three of the figures on top of the building had surged forward as Crowley tipped himself over the edge of the rooftop. Gabriel’s arm still restraining Zira was thrown off in the taller man’s confusion and distraction of the moment. Beezlebub had abandoned their attempts at restraint of the buttoned-down human in favor of desperately grasping at Crowley’s shoes to arrest his fall before it started. This had left Zira free to rush to the edge of the rooftop. “Anth- CROWLEY!!” He yelled it as loud as he could, but there was nothing. He scanned the sidewalk, the window ledges, the street, even the sides of the buildings across the street, but Anthony had simply vanished. As though the street had opened him up and swallowed him in lieu of allowing his fall to arrest suddenly and violently on the sidewalk. Zira’s mind was racing, his heart was thumping like he’s sprinted a marathon, and he wasn’t sure if he was angry, confused, relieved, frightened , or some combination of those. He felt simultaneously too big for his skin and hollowed out to the point of nothingness. Blue-grey eyes still desperately searched for some sign of his Anthony.   
Gabriel’s hand landed heavily on his forearm and tried to pull him backwards. “Well, nothing doing here. That’s the one gone, no use risking-”   
“Unhand me,” Zira clipped out, and ripped his arm out of Gabriel’s grip with a violence he hadn’t intended. Gabriel stumbled backwards as thought he’d been pushed hard in the chest.  _ Okay. Mostly angry then, I see. _   
The archangel backed up a bit and put his hands up in a defensive, palms out posture like he was trying to placate the other man. He even had the gall to try that salesman-smooth smile. “Hey, now. All we need to do is get your memories sorted about the last couple hours and everything will be right as rain.”   
_ Not angry. Furious. _ “Right as RAIN? You - You - You tried to Kill me! You held a knife to my throat like a common criminal!”    
Beezlebub started backing away in the background, and if Zira had had any real presence of mind he might have noticed Gabriel’s smooth smile turn into decidedly more panicked.   
“Now Azira-”   
“NO! What have you done with him? WHERE IS HE?” He pointed accusingly at Gabriel. “You’re… you’re… a, a, a…  _ bad angel _ . What have you  _ done _ with him??”   
“Now, Now, Aziraphale, I didn’t do  _ anything _ to the demon Cr-”   
Zira rounded on Beelzebub, who had made it most of the way to the emergency exit and seemed to be cursing themselves for not simply popping back down to Hell as soon as things had started to take a turn.    
“What’ve you done with him!” He demanded. The Prince of Hell attempted to look imperious but only succeeded in  _ not _ appearing quite as terrified as they were.   
“I’ve done nothing. Crowley made his choice to fall… twice now. Who knows where he’zz ended up?”   
‘No, he’s… he’s got to be…”   
Apiraphale rubbed his palms into his eye sockets and fought a sudden and incredible headache. Little sparks traveled up his arms from his fingertips to his shoulders and down his legs to the rooftop below his feet. If it had been any other time on any other day, he’d have been astounded. Now he simply registered it in a removed, numb kind of way. Gabriel attempted to take advantage of his apparent distraction to sidle up within reach, but instead found his wrist being crushed in the grip of an overpowered and furious Guardian. Aziraphale’s gaze dropped to where his right hand was holding Gabriel’s own right wrist in a parody of a handshake and his eyes narrowed. Much like Crowley in the desert (though a bit more hesitant - Aziraphale’s thoughts knew better than to jump out and surprise him too badly), things began to slot into place. Blank spaces in his vast memory that he hadn’t even known existed were suddenly filling up. And most recently…   
“You made an oath you’d leave us alone,” he hissed accusingly. Finally, Gabriel balked. If he’d known how the human circulatory system worked, he’d probably have gone pale as well.    
That was when the only thing in the universe that could have kept Aziraphale from calling Gabriel an Oath-Breaker and beginning a precipitous chain of events in heaven and hell happened to occur. Enormous black wings moved massive amounts of air as a figure crested the top of the building and sailed comfortably to a standstill next to Aziraphale.    
“Hallo, Angel.”    
Crowley stood tall, every inch of him put together like a dream. Not a hair out of place or speck on his pristine jacket. The glasses were new, round, and appeared to have side-blinders on as well. He grinned, cheeky, at his angel and assessed the situation. His smile turned dangerously feral when it turned on Gabriel.   
“Let ‘im go, Angel,” Crowley soothed. It was calming to its recipient, but the tone had an edge neither the archangel or the Prince of Hell could overlook. He put a calming hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and rubbed it minutely back and forth.    
“But. He.” Aziraphale clenched his eyes tightly closed, trying to organize his thoughts, then blinked open and stared, as if registering the demon’s presence for the first time. “Crowley??”   
The genuine grin was back. “Yeah. I’m all right, Angel. It’s m-”   
He was cut off as Aziraphale threw his arms around the slightly taller demon, kissing him with a panicked elation. The angel ran careful palms over Crowley’s shoulders, hands tracing over his upper arms then up the sides of his neck and into his hair. “I thought you were gone. I saw you fall, Crowley. You’re here? I thought… I thought-” He kissed him again, hiccuping a bit and Crowley gently, carefully pulled away. (Not too far. Just enough he could get a look at his angel).    
“Uh… you notice you’re glowing yet?”   
Aziraphale blinked in confusion, then looked at his hand. It was, in fact, emitting a soft blue-white light in lieu of the sparks it’d been creating not too long ago. “Oh,” he replied in either shock or awe, “it appears I am.”   
Crowley’s grin only grew wider. “You remember yet?”   
“I… I think so. Mostly. Mostly everything. I remember…” The quirk of his lips was hesitant but genuine. “I remember you.”   
“Excellent.” The demon whirled back upon the two others on the roof, too terrified of the consequences of running to have attempted escape. “You remember what it feels like to get your wings out?”   
The angel beside him didn’t reply in words, but with a deep, cleansing breath and a slight shoulder roll which rippled out behind him into white feathers and just a hint of a feeling you were being watched from every angle at once. The wings weren’t the only thing that appeared. The Guardian of the Eastern Gate had manifested a flaming sword - something which seemed to momentarily surprise him as much as everyone else on the rooftop. It was the transition of a millisecond, however, for his grip to tighten and for the angel to advance on Gabriel, waving the harbinger of heavenly destruction around like he was gesticulating with a particularly intimidating pen.   
“You made me do  _ balance sheets _ for THREE YEARS???” He pointed the blade at the angel in purple accusingly, prompting an audible gulp. “I am an Angel of the Lord! Balance Sheets??? Good heavens…” He turned in a circle like he’d only just remembered something, then jabbed the sword in Gabriel’s direction again to underline his points. “WHAT have you done with my bookshop! I should cut you down now, like a, a diseased tree. Ohhhh, the  _ heresy _ ! The  _ deception _ ! Why, there really is nothing to separate us from demons besides the view, is there? Oh, look at me, I’m an angel! I can’t do wrong because I’m an angel and angels can’t possibly do wrong and look at all the wide open space and natural light I get in my office, the nerve of you! We just want to be left alone and your response is… is…  _ this nonsense? _ You promised in the garden! You vowed you’d leave us alone as long as we went along with your cockamamey scheme. But that wasn’t enough for you, oh no. Not for Grand Old Gabriel. Oh no, you had to prove how  _ clever _ you are. How  _ superior _ . And all you could come up with was… was… Spreadsheets!”   
“And Christmas music!” Crowley chimed in, thinking of the months of tin-can Christmas music he and Anathema had dealt with in their cubicles downstairs.   
“And Christmas Music!”   
“Now, to be fair-” Gabriel started, but Aziraphale had already whirled around to point his heavenly weapon at Beelzebub, Prince of Hell.   
“And You!” He waggled the sword like a disappointed schoolmaster wags a finger, with the facial expression to match. “I’d have honestly thought you had a bit more sense than all of this considering all the trouble you went through with Crowley in the first place. From all indications, it seemed you lot were happy to be  _ rid _ of him!” He wrinkled his nose and turned to his companion. “No offense, dear.”   
“Course not,” Crowley replied casually. In actuality, Crowley was doing all he could to keep from crowing in triumphant laughter. Watching his love casually gesticulate with a weapon that could easily destroy both the archangel and the demon prince whilst giving them a full dressing-down was, apparently, better than any revenge he could have thought up on his own.    
Aziraphale stepped back next to his demon and assessed the other two. “You’re both a disappointment. Not just to me - I can’t rightly imagine even God finding this even marginally successful. Amusing, perhaps - I mean, she does have a bit of a twisted sense of-” He shook his head, thinking of pillars of salt, and the platypus, and haggis, and moved on, waving the sword dismissively. “You both lied, but you in particular, Archangel. You’ve been very naughty, perhaps even some would call you an oath-breaker…” The words weren’t uttered as an accusation, but the air still trembled a bit at the statement. “What’s to stop me from casting you down as you cast the Fallen down before you?” Suddenly the iron-bar core of the angel came to the fore, and Crowley couldn’t have been more proud. Gabriel finally seemed to grasp the gravity of his predicament.   
Assessing the situation accurately, unlike their counterpart, Beezlebub stepped closer to Aziraphale and tried to explain. “Lizzzzen, Angel.” They closed their eyes and huffed out through their nose, about to make a rather embarrassing admission. “You’re right. Hell wantzz nothing to do with either of you. I let this lunk talk me into thizzzz  _ ztupid _ plan and I’ve regretted it ever zince.” The Prince turned to Crowley. “Honestly, nobody down there but Hastur will touch you with a ten-foot pole. They’re all convinced you’re zzome kind of horror chozen by Her, and honeztly I don't blame them. I’m just glad you don’t want my job.”   
Crowley’s lips turned down and his eyebrows went up, then he nodded. “Well. Cheers to that,” he replied, a bit impressed.   
Beezlebub turned back to the Aziraphale. “Thing izz, he's  _ exactly _ az much of an idiot azz you think. You super-charged the vow he took when Hastur took Crowley, and with hiz wording he accidentally implicated the entire host.”   
Aziraphale rolled his eyes and looked towards Gabriel. “Oh,  _ nobody _ could be that stupid,” he dismised. Gabriel was studiously looking for errant birds in the fading evening light. Aziraphale whipped his head back around to Beezlebub. “Nooooh,” he rebutted, disbelieving.    
“Oh yezz.”   
“He… wow.” Aziraphale focused on nothing for a moment, apparently re-assessing something internally, then blinked back at the Prince of Hell in front of him. “The  _ entire _ host?” He still couldn’t quite believe it.

“Yah. So… tell you what. If you’re willing to make a deal with a demon.” Beezlebub quirked an eyebrow at the angel in front of them. Aziraphale, for his part, vanished the sword and his wings, looking behind him and extending a grasping hand towards Crowley. The demon vanished his own wings and stepped up to his angel’s side. The angel squeezed the hand now entangled in his own, and nodded.  
“What’s the deal?”  
Gabriel took this moment to pipe up. “Now just one moment, I think-”  
“Quiet You,” Beezlebub railed, pointing a dark-nailed finger in his direction. “You had your turn, you made a _right muck of it_. Now leave them alone per your _sacred bloody oath_ or I’ll run you through myself.”  
Suitable chastized, Gabriel slumped and began to sulk.  
“Now, yezz… We leave you alone. Put everything back the way it wazz. You go home and never hear from uzz again unlezz the real end of the world izz happening.” They glanced back at Gabriel. “Realiztically, you’ll likely never hear from uzz again.”  
Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged looks. Then Crowley chimed in. “I need none of the humans affected to have their memories tampered with or their lives otherwise interfered with in perpetuity. None. Nothing. Do you understand? The Devices, Warlock Dowling, Adam Young, anyone else - do you understand?”  
Beezlebub nodded. “Of courze… but you underztand they’ll remember the years you’ve been missing?”  
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Do I understand - Of Course I Understand! That’s the bloody point! I… ugh.” He sighed at the sky. “Angel, that’s my only stipulation. What’d’you want?”   
Aziraphale blinked slowly, brow furrowed in thought for a few moments. “I… I just want to go home. With you. And I want us to be left alone.” He squinted at Gabriel across the rooftop. “I want him to say it.”  
Three pairs of eyes fell expectantly upon the archangel.  
“I.. now surely I don’t have to… I mean, do you mean to say you really don’t trust-”  
“No, we don’t,” Crowley cut him off with a hint of venom. “Now say. It.”  
Gabriel, with much huffing like this was all far more fuss than it was worth, started. “None of the humans directly or indirectly related to the plot to keep the Angel Aziraphale and the Demon Crowley imprisoned for eternity within the shell of a human form shall be tampered with in body, mind, or soul, in perpetuity. I, Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord, do solemnly swear it, there. Is that what you wanted?”  
Aziraphale and Crowley both nodded, hearing the “plot” laid out so matter-of-factly still a bit gobsmacking. _For eternity? In a human form? Seriously??_   
Gabriel nodded like the matter was resolved. “Right! Well… see ya… ah… probably never. Definitely never. Can’t. Bad idea. Unintended consequences and all that.” He smiled that tight, professional smile, then nodded at Beelzebub. “Beez,” he acknowledged. Then - POOF - Gabriel was no longer on the roof.  
The Prince of Hell, suddenly alone with the two others, backed away slowly.  
“Well, that’s our agreement. I hope to never see, smell, or hear from you again. Goodbye.” And with a nod, they sunk into the tiles of the roof and were gone. 

And suddenly it was only Aziraphale and Crowley, alone, on a rooftop in the middle of London with the lights of the city bright below them. Still holding hands, Aziraphale turned to the redhead and stared into his own reflection. He touched the glasses gently, hesitantly.   
“May I…?”   
“Course.”   
Delicate fingers lifted the shades from Crowley’s face, revealing two slightly over-large, very yellow, very serpentine eyes with vertical slit pupils. Aziraphale sighed deeply and smiled, relieved. He wasn’t expecting it, but felt tears of relief start pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Oh… it’s  _ you _ ,” he breathed. It didn’t quite convey what he had intended, but Crowley got the message loud and clear regardless, gathering up the angel in a tight embrace.   
“You remembering now?” he asked, throat tight at the thought of the options. It was the demon’s turn to sigh in relief as he felt the angel nod against his shoulder. They held one another tightly.    
“I didn’t realize how… how much I  _ missed _ you. Even though you were right here, but I couldn’t… we didn’t… it took me so long. Again. Oh, I’m so sorry.”   
“Hey, now. None of that.” Crowley smoothed some errant curls down and kissed his angel briefly. “Now we’ve got two stories about how we fell in love, yah? How many beings in the world get something as novel as that? Not many, I say.” He tucked his head back against Aziraphale’s temple. “‘Sides, you take all the time you want. I had a couple hours to figure this out after I fell, so I already had my existential breakdown. You’d entitled to one as well.”   
Aziraphale lifted his head and frowned at Crowley. “Hours??” He accused lightly.    
Crowley, caught out, sputtered a little. “Well, ahh, s’all relative, y’know. Time… stopping and going and the like. I was just trying to figure out how it worked again, that’s all.” He knew Aziraphale knew he was lying. And he knew Aziraphale knew he knew. But it didn’t matter.   
“Crowley?” Aziraphale had apparently decided to put a pin in that particular opportunity for friendly bickering.   
“Hmm?” Crowley was just happy to have his arms around his angel once more, with memories both old and new intact and a promise of stability he’d never even considered before.    
“I want to go home. Will you take me home?”   
“Of course!” Crowley was more than pleased to be tasked with such a seemingly easy thing until he realized. “Uh… Angel? Which, ah… which home?”   
Aziraphale smiled in a way that rivaled the sun and barked out a laugh. “You know, excellent question!” He replied brightly. “Let’s spend tonight at your flat. We’ll get Anathema and Newton and drive down to the cottage tomorrow.” They began walking towards the stairs off the roof. Crowley, renegotiating his sunglasses, frowned. He wanted to make sure his angel was happy, and while his bed was solidly twice the size of Aziraphale’s, the other man had always complained.   
“You don’t want your bed? You always say mine’s less comfortable to sleep on.”   
Aziraphale stopped and stepped in front of Crowley, arresting his progress towards the emergency exit. He grasped both the demon’s biceps gently but firmly and locked eyes with him through his tinted lenses. “Anthony. Darling. I have absolutely zero designs on sleep for the foreseeable future. If that’s, ah…” He loosened his grip and rubbed the sleeves under his hands lightly. “If that’s something you’re also amenable to. I know it’s been a  _ very _ long day.”   
Crowley swallowed and hoped it wasn’t as audible as it had sounded in his head, then nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. No. Yeah, that’s…” He grinned. “Who needs sleep? I just had to sleep every night for years! I’m well caught up.” He bounded ahead of his angel, opening the door to the stairs like a proper gentleman. “Might make that Monday, we go out to the cottage,” he added with just a bit of cheek.   
Aziraphale rolled his eyes with a smile, but doled out a light kiss on his way past anyway.    
“Perhaps. If you can stand me that long,” he countered. Crowley caught him and pulled him in to kiss him properly.   
“All day, every day, any day, Angel,” he replied with unexpected earnestness. “I love you.”   
Aziraphale leaned his forehead against Crowley’s there on the rooftop under the stars and took a moment to simply feel grateful.    
“Oh Crowley. And I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are folks!
> 
> There were some scenes that never made it in. Partially because I left it to the last minute and partly because scenes above a T kinda stress me out. Especially in longer fics that are generally pretty fluffy.  
> (Though if anyone would like me to put those less family-friendly scenes in writing as interludes, just let me know.)
> 
> I'm thinking about adding an epilogue at the cottage set some time in the future, but I had to pick an ending or it just... would never stop. :-) Hope you liked the story (and LOVED Wyvern's Art!!!!). Thanks for making it all the way to the end!!! <3 <3


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